Lies
by greyheartbw
Summary: Everyone thought Clint died over a year ago in a battle. It was a lie. Clint was taken and tortured for the past year; broken down until all he wants is revenge on the team that never came for him. Will they be able to reach him through his hatred and help him recover from what was done to him? Or is he too shattered to be pieced back together? Prompt Fill
1. Bleeding Out

Full prompt at avengerkink. livejournal 16524. html?thread=37936524#t37936524 (you'll need to get rid of the spaces after the dots)

Clint and Tony were/are in a relationship in this story, I don't normally ship them but it worked well in this story, so I kept it in. I tried to make their relationship as realistic as I could for their characters, I dislike ooc, so don't expect mushy wushy/lovey dovey crap, I don't do cavities.

As a warning, there is torture and non graphic rape in this story. It is M for a reason.

flashwitch was nice enough to beta this for me, she's wonderful! Thank you!

* * *

I'm coming back to beginning to give warning. This story is 'M' for a reason. If you don't read the prompt, you won't know that there is a lot of torture and will be rape in this story. It is not explicit but there is a fair amount of creepy touching involved. Also past abuse and rape will be talked about. I don't want to catch you off guard.

* * *

**"Lies and secrets, Tessa, they are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind." **

**-Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince**

* * *

"JARVIS deploy flares!" Nothing. "JARVIS?" Tony growled in frustration and tried to fire his repulsors again.

Sparks shot out and one of the robotic sabertooth (cyberteeth?) snarled and released his hold on the suit, only to get a better grip on his arm. There was nothing he could do; facedown on the pavement with three prehistoric cats ripping through his suit like he hadn't spent weeks on a titanium alloy that Thor couldn't dent with one punch.

"I could really use some backup right about now!" He was met with grunting and pants. Which, alright, everyone was busy. Last time he looked, Widow and Cap were dealing with giant spiders, Thor was wrestling a snake the length of a city block and Hulk was chasing down a swarm of over sized bees, but -.

"I'm headed your way Tony." Clint's voice came across the comm. "High Bridge?"

"Yeah," Tony bit back a cry of pain, as the armor on his right foot dented inward further. "No rush," he hissed. "Simba and Mufasa are just using me as a chew toy, while uncle Scar seems to think I was propositioning him. Man, these things are heavy." The pressure on the suit was beyond uncomfortable now.

"Hawkeye." Widow said, and that's all she said. He's not sure what she means but it was clear to Clint. Tony took a second to be jealous of how she could communicate so completely with his boyfriend, with one word, while Tony couldn't seem to stop shoving his foot in his mouth.

"I've only got one EMP arrow left and it's going to Tony." Alright, being first on his list helped.

"Remind me to work on those for you, Babe. Limited range? Really, SHIELD?"

"How's JARVIS coming with that signal?" Rogers asked, his voice strained.

"Don't know. Scar's been tearing through my suit systems, I'm losing them left and right." Left and right, arms, legs, he's going be torn apart. "I can't…" Literally torn apart. "...the suit…" Eaten out of his suit. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up, "Local, it was local, he was talking with SHIELD, they'll find them."

"I'm coming, Tony." Clint reassured. He voice was hard and smooth and just what Tony needed. "It's going to be alright. I'm almost there."

The sound of metal tearing is getting worse. Trapped in his suit. There was no air on the other side. Bright and beautiful and empty; sucking the life out of you. "Not everything's shielded," Tony gasped. "The arrows going to shut down some of my suit systems."

"Does that include anything that's actually still working?" Clint asked, breathing hard.

Tony paused. "No, we're good. Fire whenever you can."

"'Whenever I can?'" Clint huffed a laugh. "What happened to firing when you say so?"

"We've all got our areas of expertise, Sugarpie. You trust me in the bedroom and I'll trust you to end these things before they pop this can open and realize there's not tuna fish inside."

Tony cried out as his right boot began to tear away, the dented areas ripping into his calf. He had been laying still, in the hope that they would lose interest but that idea flew out and he started thrashing again, trying to knock the cats off, making them rip and tear more earnestly.

"Now! Now is the best time! Fire now!" He felt the metal on his back rip away, fresh air cooling his skin and he screamed.

"Tony!"

"Now!"

A heavy weight landed on his back and silence descended around him. The ripping had stopped. No more creepy metallic roars echoing through his suit.

"I shot, Tony!" Clint yelled.

Tony closed his eye and let out a haggard breath.

"Tony?" Clint asked, sounding uncertain, fearful.

Tony pushed himself up to his knees, the now 'dead' cyberteeth falling away.

"Where?" He asked, looking around.

Clint sighed in relief, "To your left. Cafe roof."

Tony lifted his head higher, looking over the left side of the bridge. There are shops and a cafe along the shore, with a ten foot drop to the river. He saw Clint on a roof, his hands on his knees. "I thought…" Tony began.

"I wasn't going to make it to the bridge in time," Clint said, leaning over the side of the building, grabbing the drain pipe and sliding down, "I needed altitude. You in one piece?"

"Just barely." Tony said, looking down at his mangled suit, "Perfect timing."

"Hey, you're the boss, remember?" Suddenly Clint grunted, like the air was being forced out of his lungs.

"Clint?" Tony looked over the edge of the bridge again and felt his breath catch.

Clint was swaying where he stood, at the edge of the water, his bow, forgotten on the ground. He was looking down at his hands as they left his chest, wet. Red.

"Clint," Tony whispered, in horror.

Clint looked up, right at Tony. His mouth opened to say something, but then his body seemed to waver and he fell over the edge. Clint hit the water and Tony screamed his name. And kept screaming "no", over and over as he attempted to take off.

The suit was shredded. The boots, almost torn off. He tried to run, but fell back to his knees. Something was broken. His foot. His mind. He crawled to the edge of the bridge. Clint hadn't surfaced.

He heard the others yelling over the comms, yelling his name, trying to make themselves heard over his own screams.

"Pause."

The screen froze.

Tony leaned over the couch to the end table and grabbed the bottle of whiskey.

"Rewind 28 seconds and pause."

**Sir, please allow me to call someone-**

Tony cut him off. "Twenty eight seconds and pause, JARVIS."

The AI was silent as the suit footage rewound. It stopped, and Clint was back on the boardwalk, looking down at the blood.

"Play 2.7 seconds and pause."

Clint looks up, right at Tony. His mouth opens to say something. What was he going to say?

He'd never know. Clint's body was never recovered. Clint was dead; because Tony couldn't handle three Robocats alone. He had helped draw the archer out into the open. Let the sniper take his shot. Two minutes later SHIELD finished tracing the signal and shut the robotic animals down. Three and a half minutes and the team was at the bridge. But it didn't matter. The water was too dark. It had rained the day before, emptying silt into the already dirty Harlem River.

Tony stared at the screen until it blurred. It was already ingrained in his mind.

Twelve months was nothing. Twelve years could pass and he would still remember Clint's face. The hazy shock and fear.

Tony would never forget the day he failed to save Clint.

* * *

A man lowered himself into a chair, watching the man on the security screen as he slept silently in his cell. Nodding, he opened his phone and dialed. While it rang, he stretched his wrist out, loosening the wide leather cuff around it.

The line picked up. "Yes?"

"He's almost ready."

"Almost? We have already moved our timetable back much further than we had planned."

"You know he's strong. He held out longer than anyone ever has. But he's mine now," he said, glancing at the electronic control cuff on his wrist. "He'll do anything I want."

"And you're sure he'll go for the kill?"

"Absolutely. He hates them now. He just needs time to train; get himself back in top shape, plan the attack, and we'll be ready to go."

"It's always a pleasure to see your end product. Broke and rebuilt at the same time. Keep me updated."

"Of course," he said, hanging up.

"He's mine." The man whispered, fondly, eyes moving back to the sleeping man. "My Hawkeye."


	2. Revenge

Giant robot bugs. Again. Couldn't something be stolen without genetically manipulated creatures or hordes of themed machines being involved?

"Any communication from Stark or Spade?" Rogers asked, cutting an ant in half with his shield, making sparks fly from the robot.

Natasha rolled her eyes. Their most recent marksman had asked them to call him Spade, no doubt hoping it would help endear him to the Avengers, and they would, in turn, not send him on his way, like all of the others. It wasn't working. But Rogers was nice enough to use the call-sign and humour the kid.

"I have heard nothing from them," Thor said, hand going to his ear. "Should Stark not be here by now?"

"Something's wrong," Rogers said, noting what Natasha was just noticing, how close the others were. Usually they were separated more during a battle, by multiple city blocks, even.

"They drew Hulk away and it quieted down." The giant bugs had stilled. Her sense of dread spiked.

"Get out of the open," Steve ordered, as he started sprinting to the nearest building. "Now!"

Natasha quickly disappeared into the shade of an alley.

A grunt sounded over the comms and she turned in time to Thor hit the ground. Her eyes immediately moved up the buildings.

"We've got a sniper!" she called out.

"Thor's not moving."

"Did you see where the shot came from?" Natasha asked.

"No. Where are Spade and that SHIELD team?"

The comms crackled and then Stark's voice cut through, "They got held up. Looks like someone wanted you guys alone; they're trying to block any communication in and out of your area. Good thing I'm a genius."

"What's your ETA?"

"About two minutes. Traffic's great up here."

"Can you still talk to SHIELD?"

"Yeppers."

"We need medical; in the area and on standby. Thor took a hit and is not moving."

"What do you mean 'he's not moving'? I thought we were dealing with oversized bugs again. What the hell could they do when bullets bounce off him?"

"Well this bullet went through." Natasha snapped.

Tony went silent for a good fifteen seconds, then he was back, his voice deadly. "A sniper?"

Natasha winced internally. Ever since the Harlem River incident, Stark had been obsessed with finding the sniper responsible for Clint's death. Anyone that had dared take credit for it had quickly changed their minds when faced with Stark's wrath.

"Looks that way," Rogers sighed. "Do you see a vantage point Widow? My position's a little too open to look."

Natasha quickly peeked around the corner. Rogers was in a building's entryway, hiding behind a pillar.

"I couldn't see where the shot came-"

She was interrupted by a cry from Rogers. She glanced around again and saw Rogers, on the ground, holding his shoulder.

"Cap is down!" She saw the angle. The shooter was on her side of the street. Her eyes were drawn back to Steve as he cried out in pain again and began to convulse. It was then that she saw the dart in his arm. She swore as she turned and raced to the apartment building's fire escape and began climbing. "The shooter's ready for us, Stark, you need to stay away."

"Say again?"

"They lured the Hulk away, they had a bullet that was able to hurt Thor, Rogers' metabolism breaks down just about anything and he's convulsing on the ground right now. This isn't an attack on the city, they're after us."

Tony went silent again. "Is Thor dead?"

Natasha paused a half a second on the ladder, then rolled over the top and onto the roof, landing silently and low. "I don't know."

"I'll be there is ten seconds."

"No, Stark!" She quietly hissed. She needed to move fast. Where was the sniper? To have a clear shot to Steve's arm… she started sprinting over the roof tops, but she couldn't see anyone.

"Coming in behind you," Stark announced.

Natasha turned around and saw Stark, headed straight to her, when a whistle sounded behind him, getting his attention.

_No._

The sniper had moved.

Tony turned around as she caught sight of a masked shooter. As he let an arrow fly.

"Stark!"

The arrow hit his chest, through his armor and straight into the arc reactor.


	3. Gotcha

Stark's howl of of pain cut off and he careened into the roof of the building between Natasha and the shooter, where he lay unmoving. Her eyes flicked from Stark to the shooter. He was dressed in black tactical gear, black mask with mirrored goggles covering his eyes. They waited a beat and then moved, simultaneously, forward. He wasn't going to run away, he actually believed he could take her on and win; and at this point, Natasha wasn't sure where she stood. He had clearly studied up on all of the Avengers. He would have studied her fighting styles. He dropped the bow as they both jumped over their alleys, rolled as they landed and came up running, knives in hand.

As they came together she went low and he flipped over her. It was all instinct. They parried and blocked, getting in hits, small cuts from the knives. This all felt very familiar, almost deja vu. She blocked a swipe and realized why; he was fighting in Clint's style. Was that intentional? She thought of the arrow in Stark's chest and pushed down her disgust. The gall; to use Clint's memory against them. This needed to end sooner rather than later; her team needed help.

He took a fist to the face and stumbled back, growling, but not out of frustration or pain; she could hear the hate as it drove him on. He hated her. This whole attack was cold and calculated; every moment planned. Everything else was done at a distance but now he was in the thick of it, up close, and apparently, very personal. She could work with hate; hate blinded you.

They came together again, but it soon became clear that she was getting the upper hand. She hit his arm and was surprised to see his knife go flying. Realizing too late that it was a ploy, he grabbed her arms and twisted them to the right, bringing his left knee up into her gut. She doubled over, dropping her knife as he twisted her wrist further, and threw her to the ground. She rolled, freeing another knife from her boot.

His head twitched and he pulled out a gun.

"I'm not surprised." She mocked. "If you can't win in a fair fight; cheat."

His jaw clenched, hand tightening around the gun, ready to fire, when a roar filled the air. They both turned and she didn't have to see his eyes to know they widened when Hulk landed on the roof beside Stark.

Hulk looked down at Tony, then back up at the shooter, who was taking halting steps back. Hulk roared and charged forward.

The gun clattered to the floor and suddenly the shooter was holding a spray can.

Natasha watched in shock as he pulled a tab and a thin stream of liquid shot out twenty feet, hitting Hulk in the face. He howled and stopped, falling to the roof, rubbing at his eyes.

This was too much. More than him dead, they needed answers. Natasha dropped the knife and moved. Running up to the shooter, she jumped, using his shoulders as leverage to send herself all the way over him and twist around, grabbing him under his arm, she flipped him, throwing him to where the Hulk knelt, moaning and groaning.

"Hulk!" She yelled, getting his attention.

Hulk stilled as the shooter began to stand.

"To your left!"

Hulk's arm shot out, hitting the shooter and sending him flying toward the roof's door. He hit the wall, hard, and landed in a heap. She waited a breath. Two. But he didn't move. A hit like that, he was going to have one hell of a concussion, in the very least.

Natasha look a deep breath to sigh and ended up coughing from the pepper in the air. She couldn't believe it. He had used bear mace on the Hulk, and it had worked. Still coughing she raced to Stark's side.

"Stark? Tony, can you hear me?" She asked, finding it difficult to look away from arrow sticking out if the now dark arc reactor and she didn't dare to try and remove it. "JARVIS, activate safety protocol Widow 27-2."

There was some clicking as the helmet was released and she pulled it off.

Underneath, Tony was pale, his face twitching in pain every few seconds. At least he was alive. She didn't even know if Rogers and Thor… no. She needed to focus.

"Contact SHIELD, JARVIS," she said, into the helmet. "Tell them it's safe to come in."

**I have been monitoring the situation and have already done so, Ms. Romanoff. They are sending two quinjets, both one minute out. Sir must be taken back to the Tower immediately. He has a failsafe programmed in his lab to replace the reactor if something like this should happen.**

"How is he doing?"

JARVIS seemed to hesitate. **The hit was very painful for him, that, coupled with shock, caused him to lose consciousness. The arrow tip is currently located in a cluster of wires that is shocking him. He will soon be going into cardiac arrest,** he finished quietly.

"Should I try to pull it out?" Natasha asked, unsure.

**No, it would better if took care of that. I will be controlling the arms in the lab.**

"What about the suit, how is it doing?"

**Other than the reactor the suit sustained no real damage. The backup power supply will be sufficient to power the speakers and allow me to monitor Sir's vitals until he is returned to the Tower.**

"Good." She said, nodding. "I'm still here, I just need to go take care of the man responsible for this mess."

**Of course, Ms. Romanoff, I will not keep you from him, **JARVIS replied. Natasha didn't think she imagined a hint of malice in his voice.

Natasha stood, taking a shaky breath. Not ten minutes ago the team was fine, now, she and the Hulk might be the only one's that survived. She turned and looked at the Hulk. The spray seemed to be wearing off; he was sitting with red eyes, looking forlornly at Tony. As she walked passed him, she could feel him stand and lumber after her. The shooter was still out. Not surprising. Taking a hit from the Hulk could kill. He'd be feeling that for a while, and more, once they took him in for questioning. She noted the first Quinjet arriving and lowering to the street.

Hulk growled as she crouched beside the shooter and rolled him onto his back. This man had almost single handedly taken out all of the Avengers. She reached down and pulled off the mask and goggles, freezing as his face was revealed.

"No," she whispered. "No." There were a few more scars than she remembered, but Natasha would know that face anywhere. The impossible shots. The bow. The fighting style. She took a gasping breath and hurriedly stood. It couldn't be him.

The wind picked up as the second Quinjet slowly landed on the roof.

Hulk looked down at the former teammate in confusion. "Hawk?"


	4. Alive

Tony wasn't sure how to feel, when he woke up in one of the rooms on the medical floor of the Tower, alone. It had taken him months, but he had stopped waking up, expecting Clint to be asleep in one of the chairs or sitting at the foot of his bed playing cards; still, there was usually someone from the team there. He was a bit hazy from whatever they had given him for the pain, and since he wasn't feeling much, it must have been the really good stuff. Even through the haze, his mind was catching up fast and started going through everything that could have happened. Thor and Steve were down. Hulk was distracted, somewhere. And then… the arrow. He looked down at his chest. The arc reactor was glowing bright.

He was in the Tower, so someone on the the team was alive, else he would be, well, dead and in SHIELD's morgue; they wouldn't have been able to fix the reactor. They wouldn't have even been able to get him out of the suit.

"JARVIS?" he croaked. Man he needed some water.

**I'm here, Sir. It is good to have you awake.**

"Don't get mushy on me, J."

**I wouldn't dream of it, Sir. You have been unconscious for nineteen hours. The arc reactor was damaged beyond repair. Ms. Romanoff was able to transport you to your lab in time for me to replace it. The procedure took longer than anticipated, as the arrowhead damaged a portion of the housing wall and three wires.**

Damaged the housing wall? "How the hell did-"

"Adamantium arrowhead," Natasha answered, moving silently into the room.

He held his hand up to the reactor, a bit less dramatically than usual, but, eh, "We've talked about this, Romanoff. I have a heart condition; you can't walk around here like a ninja. You agreed to wear the bell."

Natasha lifted her left wrist, handing him a cup of chips, and shook it, making the attached bell jingle.

Any humor Tony had been keeping alive, died. Shit. Bad word choice. She was wearing the bell. She only wore it to make fun of him when she snuck up on him anyway. This though, felt more like she was trying to be reassuring. Something was wrong.

"Thor and Rogers?"

"They're going to be fine. They're both in SHIELD medical. Apparently someone got their hands on some uru and somehow forged it into a bullet. It cut through Thor like a bullet would have through anyone else, but he's lucky he heals faster. If he had been human he would have died. As it was, he was already beginning to heal when the medics started patching him up. He could actually show up back here anytime. SHIELD can't contain him and he keeps insisting it's a flesh wound."

Tony snorted.

"Steve… if the medics hadn't got to him when they did, he wouldn't have made it. SHIELD's still trying to figure out what was in the dart. They've never seen the like. It was shutting down his body." She paused. "They said, he was turning blue he was so cold."

Tony felt his anger spike. "How's he doing?"

"It shook him pretty bad. It didn't help that he was conscious for most of it. They have him sedated now. Not sure when he'll be ready to be released."

Tony nodded, keeping hold of his simmering rage. "We got him, right? He didn't get away?" he asked.

A weird look crossed her face, then vanished. "We got him. Hulk showed up just in time."

His eyebrows shot up. "He was beating you?" he asked, in disbelief.

"It's hard to dodge a bullet, Stark."

Tony gave a tiny flinch and Natasha actually looked sorry. What the hell was going on? Had this really affected her that much?

"So, his plan was scary effective. He seemed prepared for everyone. And Hulk? Do we know how exactly the guy was planning on taking him down?"

Natasha's frown deepened. "He wasn't."

Oh. "Well we all know Brucie's special."

Natasha held his gaze. "What would have happened if the rest of us were dead, Stark? What would Hulk do if he came back and we were dead? And then SHIELD showed up?"

Tony let himself fall back to the bed, looking pale and stricken.

They left it unanswered, but it was obvious. Hulk would run. Then Bruce would run. The communications were blocked. If Tony hadn't been able to work through it, SHIELD wouldn't have known what had happened. They wouldn't have blamed Hulk, but he would be the only one alive. The media would report him running from SHIELD. Bruce wouldn't remember what happened and he would blame himself, because it was Bruce and why wouldn't he? He had come so far and that would have all been taken away in an instant. But what else could you do to someone who couldn't seem to die?

"But that didn't happen. So what's wrong?" Tony asked, because Natasha was way off and it was actually starting to freak him out. "SHIELD's got him, soon we'll know who he was working for yadda yadda yadda we go blow them up."

"SHIELD doesn't have him. I told them that we would handle it. He's in Hulk's room."

Tony blinked. "And SHIELD went for that?"

"Yes."

"Natasha, what the hell is going on?" Hulk's room was the nice name for the Hulk-proof room. Even Natasha couldn't get out of there.

Natasha sat down on his bed. She _sat down_ on his bed.

Tony tried to laugh, "You weren't lying to me, were you? Everyone's alive right?"

"_Everyone_ is alive." There she went again. Why did she say it like that?

"But, Tony," she began.

Tony._ Tony._ Shitshitshitshit.

"The shooter," She paused. "It's Clint."

Tony's whole body froze. "What?" _Clint looked up at him, blood staining his hands, opened his mouth..._ "That's… that's HIM?" he spat. "The man who killed-"

"No," Natasha interrupted. She was looking straight into his eyes, and now, for some reason he wished she would look away, because her eyes seemed haunted. "Listen carefully Tony. The shooter, the man in the mask that almost killed all of us, IS CLINT."

Tony took a breath. And then another.

"Clint isn't dead," she clarified.

"No." Tony shook his head. "No. I saw him." He grabbed her arm. "I SAW him. I recorded it. You saw it. He was shot through the chest. There was blood. He fell in the river. He didn't come back up. We didn't find him."

"He's alive."

Tony couldn't seem to breath drugs must have been wearing off because all he could feel was pain. He breathing was too shallow. "No. I…" They never found his body. He looked desperately at Natasha. "He's alive?"

He'd never seen Natasha look so sad. "Yes."

Tony's mind whirled. It was too perfect. Clint had had the only EMPs to counter those things. Nothing had attacked him as he had come to save Tony. The shot… Tony tried to block out the blood. But it couldn't have been blood. That was one of the reasons they had stopped looking; the shot would have been fatal. So it was faked. Why… "Someone took him?"

Natasha shook her head. "I don't-"

"Faked his death so we wouldn't come looking and took him?"

"I don't know, Tony," Natasha replied, firmly.

_Yes you do!_ he wanted to yell at her. Because if he figured this out in the ten seconds he had to think about it, then she most definitely knew.

"He's still unconscious. Before we knew it was him, Hulk hit him pretty hard. Our doctors say that he's going to be fine, but they're keeping him under until the swelling in his skull goes down."

"You said he was in Hulk's room."

"We moved some medical equipment in there for now."

"In the Hulk's room?" he asked, angrily, beginning to push the blankets away, "Why isn't he in medical if he's hurt that badly?"

Natasha pushed him back. "Think, Stark," she coaxed, her face solemn. "He attacked us. He tried to kill us."

"We don't know-"

"When I was fighting him, I could tell he hated me. He shot Thor, he poisoned Steve, he destroyed your reactor. He wanted us dead."

The reactor felt heavy in his chest.

"Do you know what someone would have to do to him, to make him turn on us like that?" she asked.

He saw Clint sitting on the kitchen counter, stealing pieces of meat from the dish Bruce was cooking, laughing at something Thor had said. Dunking Steve in the pool, then hiding behind Tony. Whispering something dirty, completely inappropriate and perfect to him during a briefing. No, no, he didn't want to know. Because nothing could do that.

"No. There's something else we don't know about," he insisted.

"Tony-"

"There's something else." He refused to believe that Clint would really try to kill them. No, there was something else. There had to be.


	5. Kingdom

**Just a reminder that my beta, flashwitch, is awesome, and you should go check the written designs of her mind!**

* * *

"How did I not know we had hired a insensitive coward?" Stark demanded.

"You shouldn't be so hard on people about Bruce, Tony," Natasha admonished, as the elevator began to climb. Tony tended to deflect his emotions, when he was under stress about someone he cared about. And right now the on call medical staff for the Tower were his target. He was still looking pale but Natasha couldn't keep him in his room any longer, he insisted on seeing Clint now.

"She gave him Clint's file and ran."

Natasha folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to hire a medical staff with military backgrounds? Because even they would wet themselves around the Hulk."

"She was around Bruce. We'll just have to look into someone else," Tony decided. He paused for a few seconds, then started again, more subdued. "So Bruce knows, what about Rogers and Thor?"

"Steve hasn't been coherent long enough to tell him. And Clint's probably the main reason Thor's on his way back right now."

"Anyone else?"

Natasha sighed, "SHIELD knows, Tony."

"Why?" Tony demanded

"What do you mean 'Why?' It would have been even more difficult getting Clint to the Tower if they hadn't known his identity. It will have been restricted to, at least, a level six. Not everyone will know."

Tony shook his head as the elevator dinged and opened to the living room on Bruce/Hulk's floor.

Natasha glanced around as they walked into the room. "JARVIS, where is Bruce?"

**Dr. Banner is currently in his room. He appeared somewhat distressed over the contents of Agent Barton's medical file.**

They paused.

"Anything we should be worried about?" Natasha asked.

**His heart rate is within an acceptable range.**

"I'll go talk to him." Natasha asserted, "Wait here, Tony, and we'll see Clint when I get back."

"What?" Tony asked, incredulously; then he threw in a scoffed, "No."

Natasha sighed, again. Only Tony Stark. "I know you don't want to hear this, Tony, but you shouldn't see him by yourself. You're compromised."

"Compromised?" Tony snarled. "And you're, what, indifferent? What the hell, Romanoff? You've known him longer than I have, and you're talking about him like he's a mission, like he didn't risk his life bringing you in! Did it only take you a year to get over that?"

Natasha took a sharp step into his space and Tony struggled not to swallow nervously. "Someone needs to keep a clear head about this, Stark, and it's obviously not going to be you. Do you think this isn't killing me? To know that he was most likely tortured the entire time he was gone and that we did nothing? That I did nothing? We didn't come for him. He was alone. He may never forgive us for that."

She stepped back, the heat in her voice dissipating. "You're right, Tony, I have known Clint longer than you; but I wasn't the one planning a surprise camping trip for his birthday when he was taken."

Tony flinched. No one was supposed to know about that. "Seriously, who actually likes camping? There's nothing out there except trees and dirt."

"Sit." Natasha said, carefully. "I'm going to go get Bruce. Don't go see Clint without me...please."

Tony sat, more out of surprise. He could humor Natasha, if she was at the point where she would actually say please.

"Thank you," she said, turning and taking the hallway to Bruce's room. When she was almost out of earshot she heard Tony talking to JARVIS.

"When did Clint become 'Agent Barton' again, J?"

Natasha gave a sympathetic wince. That was one of the first things Natasha had noticed that had given Clint and Tony away in the beginning; they were, Tony especially, surprisingly quiet about getting together, but JARVIS had started calling Clint by his first name. Even now, JARVIS was formal with the rest of them. It looked like that sign of trust had been rescinded. She wasn't going to hold that against JARVIS; Clint had almost killed Tony; basically JARVIS' reason for living. And while he wasn't 'Skynet', he was more self aware than people realized.

When she reached Bruce's room, she found the door open, so she walked in, giving the wall a soft knock.

"Bruce?"

Bruce started a little and turned from where he was, sitting on his bed, head in his hands.

"Natasha," he tried to smile, but it was tired. "Is Tony here with you?"

"He's waiting in your living room," she said, nodding to the door.

"Did you have to threaten him into waiting?"

"No, but I doubt he'll hold out too long." Her eyes moved to the file laying next to him.

"Sorry," he said, following her gaze. "I just needed a minute."

"It was bad," she stated, she didn't need look inside, she had known it would be, since the moment she had taken Clint's mask off.

"I didn't know what to expect, but…" he looked up at her, worried, "Tony's going to want to know everything they did to Clint, and I don't know if either of them would ever be ready for that."

"I doubt Clint will be sharing anything with us anytime soon. He may not even know who he really is."

"After what I saw I wouldn't be surprised."

"Were you in there, when the doctor-"

"No, but they were thorough enough to include pictures," Bruce shared, grimly.

Natasha winced, even she didn't want to see those.

Bruce's jaw worked silently for a few seconds and when he finally did speak, his voice was low and sharp. "They didn't just beat him, Natasha, they..." he couldn't seem to finish.

Natasha allowed herself a longer than normal blink.

It actually startled her when Bruce suddenly stood. "I know we searched everywhere for the sniper that shot Clint, and never found anything; but," he stressed, "we have to find whoever did this to him. They can't get away with it."

"I completely agree," she answered, her voice clear and deadly, promising many things.

**Ms. Romanoff,** JARVIS's voice cut in, sounding urgent. **Agent Barton has regained consciousness, escaped his restraints and neutralized the cameras in the Hulk Chamber.**

Natasha cursed and raced out of the room, Bruce close behind her. "Why didn't you tell us sooner, JARVIS?"

**I informed Sir. He has been unable to locate Agent Barton through the viewers and is attempting to enter the room despite my objections.**

Attempting to enter. That meant JARVIS was actually trying to stop Tony. She would have to think about that bit of information later. She turned into the Hulk's corridor just as the door opened for Tony, who was holding wires, looking like he had hotwired the controls.

"Tony, no!" she yelled, as he stepped into the room.

She reached him a second later, pushing him forward and took the hit and rolled with Clint as he landed on her. He tried to wrap a strip of fabric around her throat but she caught it, twisting beneath his arms as they came to a stop facing eachother; crouching and gripping the fabric, which, judging from his bare torso, used to be the top to the scrubs he was wearing.

Seeing his chest, crisscrossed with too many new scars, she hesitated a split second too long and received a left hook to her face. She grabbed his arm, turned and elbowed him in the side of the head, then rolled him into a hold. He broke it a second later and maneuvered himself above her, took hold of her shoulders and slammed her head against the floor, hard.

Her vision blacked out and she came back to the feeling of his hands around her throat.

"Bitch!" he spat, his face was contorted in rage.

She was about to wrap her legs around him when he was forcibly pulled off her. She sat up and saw Thor with his arms around Clint, who, try as he might, couldn't break free.

"Be calm, Hawkeye," Thor tried to sooth. "We are not your enemies."

It didn't work, especially not when Bruce came in a second later, syringe in hand.

Clint yelled obscenities at them, while kicking out, preventing Bruce from getting close enough to help.

Thor huffed and slowly forced Clint to his knees. As soon as they hit the floor, Clint choked out a gasp, his eyes dilated and he began to thrash around more violently.

"No. No," he begged. "Please, don't. Please."

"Get your hands off him, Thor!" Tony demanded, trying to get past Natasha to Clint.

"Shut up, Tony," she barked, holding him back.

"Bruce," Thor commanded.

Bruce came forward swiftly, injecting the sedative into Clint's hip.

"No!" Clint tried to jerk away, his yelling changing to sobs. "Please! I… Please don't."

His movements began to slow, but the begging continued.

Bruce looked sick. "Thor," he said, getting the god's attention. He shook his head. "Let him go now."

Thor gave him a questioning look. "I am merely-"

"Get out from behind him." Natasha directed, pointedly.

Thor looked down at their positioning and his confusion disappeared as understanding dawned, quickly morphing into fury and then guilt as he carefully release Clint to lay on the floor.

"I would not hurt you, Clint," he murmured, backing away.

As soon as Thor was gone, Natasha let Tony go. He was immediately at Clint's side, running his fingers through the archer's hair, whispering reassurances; even while Clint was pleading with someone to stop.

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Reviews help me construct the future chapters of this story… just so you know. I really do take what people say into consideration.


	6. Getting Started

**14 Months Earlier**

Awareness came slowly and that immediately put Clint on edge. He had learned, as a child, to wake up quickly. It was self preservation. If he was having a hard time coming around, that meant he had been drugged. He was lying on his side on a cold surface. There were no smells or sounds that were common in Medical, so possibly in hostile territory.

His clothes were too light. He opened his eyes and looked at himself. They had changed him out of his battle gear and into some basic scrubs, nothing else. No wonder he was feeling the chill. Bare feet; that would make escaping more difficult.

Clint started turning his head to get a better look at his surroundings when he felt it. He was wearing a collar. He didn't panic, but his mind did blank out for a second or two when he raised his hand and felt the smooth metal around his neck. His fingers traced it all the way around, feeling for any weak points. He found two separate seams where it fit together. No hinge. Must be a magnetic lock. It was a tight fit that would have been choking him, if it hadn't had a padded inner lining. But… he twisted and turned his neck. Yeah, there were small, rounded metal pieces pressing into his neck.

He was wearing a shock collar.

He still didn't panic; but it was, decidedly, time to get out of here. He stood up, ignoring the dizziness, and assessed the room. Fifteen by ten by eight. Bare concrete. He had been leaning against a wide pillar, closer to the back wall; Laying on a perforated rubber mat over a drain in the floor. No electrical fixtures and, essentially, no windows. There were a few small holes, about the size of his fist, in the ceiling, that allowed in daylight, and they seemed like they could be closed. There were tracks running across the ceiling, from the center of the room to the pillar for… something to slide in? The door looked solid, metal, no hinges; probably slid open and closed, electronically.

Escaping on his own was looking less and less likely. But on the upside; when the others got here, Tony would own this place.

Tony.

_Now is the best time! Fire now!_

Clint rubbed his hands over his face as the events of the battle came back to him. Tony had been hurt. Shit, was he alright? He remembered fighting back panic when he had heard Tony screaming. Clint hadn't been able to get to him before...red. He looked down at his chest, at the ugly purple bruise in the center. The shot had hurt like hell, almost knocked him off his feet. A dye? No, the pain and the sight of what he thought was blood had dazed him, but when he had touched the red, everything tingled and faded. Oh, hell. Long distance sedative shot, delivered in a hollow round; they knew his vest was beyond bulletproof, they couldn't use a dart at long distance, the needle wouldn't have penetrated the vest and going for skin could have been fatal or too damaging; so they wanted him alive. He looked up at the tracks in the ceiling again; for chains, torture.

Best case scenario? The team was already on their way and he wouldn't have to worry too much about his captors plans. Worst case? Clint heard Tony screaming again. Whoever took Clint got away clean, the team was pretty banged up and Clint was in for some pain before they could come for him.

Pain shot through Clint so unexpectedly that he cried out, his hands moving instinctively to the collar, trying to pull it off, but only managed to make it push further into the back of his neck. After a few seconds, it cut off, leaving him bent over, panting.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?" a voice laughed.

His head snapped up; he hadn't even heard the door. He tried to lunge forward but the pain knocked him to ground this time.

"It would be best if you didn't do that again," the man said, when it stopped.

Clint looked up. Nothing really stood out that could tell him who he was. A little under six feet, reddish brown hair, blue eyes, solid build, jeans, black shirt, a wide black cuff around his left wrist; were those buttons on it?

"I'm going to assume you know why you're here?"

"Fashion advice?" Clint snarked. "I can see you want to feel comfortable but you should have gone for intimidating for the first meeting. Now it's too late to take it ba-ack," Clint clenched his teeth through the pain. Did this guy really think that would shut him up?

"Really, taking an Avenger? Are you guys morons? Do you have any idea what they're going to do to this place, when they get here?"

"You think the other Avengers will come for you?" Moron asked, like Clint was a child who had just said something about Santa Claus.

"So, Moron," Clint nodded. "Good to know where I stand."

Moron frowned and pressed and held down a button on the cuff, sending pain through Clint again. When it stopped, the guy's foot hit him in the stomach, leaving Clint gasping on the floor. Two more men quickly came in and grabbed Clint, on either side of him, lifting and shoving him, face first, against the pillar. There was a clanking of metal, then a firm pressure around his wrists and ankles.

He had missed the manacles behind the pillar.

He tried to lash out but the goons were gone and the chains only gave him a two foot space from the pillar. The sounds of gears moving started and the chains were dragged upward. Clint startled to his feet, a ball of unease forming in his stomach. He glanced at Moron as his arms were pulled above his head.

The man was smirking at him. "This room was prepared especially for you."

"You really shouldn't have," Clint said, trying not to let his nerves show. There was a click, then the chains slid along the tracks in the ceiling, to the end, pulling Clint backward with them, and locking in place. He was able to turn himself around so that his weight was resting on his toes but the manacles on his feet kept them closer to the pillar, forcing his body into an off balanced diagonal position. Who the hell made a room like this? Why would they bother with the amount preparation this obviously took?

Clint knew, he didn't want to, but he knew. This wasn't a warehouse or a simple basement; he wasn't tied to a chair. This place was for long term torture.

"I'm sorry," Moron said, walking around him. "I forgot to introduce myself. You may call me Mr. Donnelly."

"You're 'sorey'?" Clint laughed, because he really needed to, "Oh, god, you're Canadian. I thought you guys were supposed to be nice."

Donnelly gave him a small smile but his eyes were hard. He nodded once, then moved to the door, reaching around the corner when it opened, then turned and walked back into the room, a long black cane in hand.

"I don't see the need to beat around the bush," Donnelly smiled, holding the cane underneath Clint's chin, "Not when I have you for that. So, is there anything you'd like to tell me about SHIELD?"

Clint raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow at him and kept quiet.

The cane struck fast and hard across him back twice, making Clint bite back a groan. He just needed to get used to it, he wasn't going to make any noises for this guy. He'd had plenty of training in anti interrogation, and wouldn't brag about getting captured on missions, that would be stupid, but there had been enough ops that had gone south for him, that he knew what he could take and how to block out enough pain to make the really bad situations bearable.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me about the Avengers?"

Two more strikes on his back, and, man, he had forgotten how much it hurt to be hit with a cane.

Donnelly moved closer. "Is there anything you'd like to tell be about your boyfriend?"

Clint blinked, then Donnelly hit him on the back of his knees, making him hang his full weight from the ceiling.

"It doesn't even matter if it's something I've already heard in the papers. Tony Stark does tend to take up tabloid space."

The picture of them kissing, right. That had been taken back when they were just having fun, before they had realized that they were getting serious.

"Is that what this is about? You think I'm shacked up with Stark? Hate to break it to you, he may be into guys but I'm not his type."

"Is that right, Sugarpie?"

_We've all got our areas of expertise, Sugarpie._

Clint was careful not to let the surprise show on his face. They had been able to hack into the team's com signal.

Clint smiled. "You might have also heard 'Brucie-bear' or 'Captain tightpants', I'm nothing special."

"I know. And I'm sure they know that as well." Donnelly twirled the cane once. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me about Phillip Coulson."

Coulson? Clint barely processed the question before the cane hit.

He now only had time to gasp between the questions and the multiple strikes.

Nick Fury. Strike. Captain America. Strike. Bruce Banner. Strike. Black Widow, not Natasha. Strike. Thor. Strike. Pause.

Clint tried to enjoy the reprieve, but Donnelly moved in closer again.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me about Loki?"

No, there wasn't, damnit.

"You two were quite close for a few days."

"So's a boa constrictor, with anything it want's to eat," Clint bit out.

Donnelly nodded, striking him on the back of his legs again. "Let's try again." And the questions started over. The blows were methodical, moving across his back and legs.

It was fine. The pain wasn't more than he could handle. He only had to hold out until the others came for him. He had learned patience long ago. He could wait for them.


	7. Best Case Scenario

From now on, to differentiate between flashback chapters and present time chapters I'm going to be putting - - - at the beginning or + + +.

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- - -After a week and a half, Clint was worried that he was still in the 'best case scenario' range; because he could be so much worse off than the giant bruise he was, and it was clear that Donnelly was not an amateur at this, inflicting the most pain he could without breaking anything or damaging Clint too severely. Which just reinforced the idea that they were planning on keeping him for long time, he was still in the preparation stage of torture. Once or twice a day Donnelly would come in, ask questions that he clearly wasn't expecting answers for and then, systematically, beat every inch of Clint's body. Sometimes Donnelly would have the beefed up lackies from the first day come in and use their fists; they were less methodical, but that was the easiest way to make sure Clint's face didn't feel left out. When they were done, Donnelly would press a few buttons on the cuff and the chains would slowly move Clint back to the ground by the pillar.

They never took the manacles off.

Clint had hoped that, during a trip to relieve himself, he would be able to find an opportunity to escape, or, in the very least, map out some of this place. That was a no-go. Turned out that drain, under the mat, wasn't just meant for water, it was also his toilet.

Whatever happened to people underestimating him because he was the only 'human' on the team? There was a rage monster, two "super soldiers", though most people didn't know that about Nat, a god and a billionaire genius with a suit, that could take on said god. Tony.

Clint closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillar. Tony. What if he wasn't alright? Clint thought he had gotten to him in time, he had sounded fine, but anything could have happened after Clint was shot. Was that why they hadn't come for him yet? Tony could hack anything, but if he was out of commission… Clint had too much time to think and nothing to do. No, Tony was fine. He was a Stark; 'made of iron', was what Howard had told him and Tony had taken that to heart. Hell, he was 'Iron' Man. He was… so much and everywhere at once. How had Clint even caught Tony's eye?

The team had moved into Stark's ugly building; apartments were prepared and given out without a second glance, like it was nothing, like he wasn't offering them a home. For almost a month afterward, Stark was everywhere, everywhere but the Tower. Another way to show that it was no big deal that they were there. Tony was an expert at protecting himself; if he didn't care, he couldn't be hurt. Clint had discovered that Tony was pretty good at lying to himself. When he came back, it was no big deal, well, it was, because everything Tony did was a big deal, but he fit himself right in with them, like he hadn't left on a world rebound tour after he and Pepper had decided to just be friends. No one knew about that at the time though.

Second day back, Tony slapped Clint's butt as he passed him in the kitchen. On instinct, he almost took a knife to him, but was able to stop himself before he fully pulled the blade out. Tony just smiled and winked, on his way out. Clint wasn't at his best, still on edge after Loki; having trouble convincing the SHIELD shrinks to believe his lie that he was fine. Who knew surprise butt slaps would actually help?

It didn't happen overnight. They both had trust issues, so the flirting started out as a game. A way to pass the time and try to catch the other off guard. Months of messing with each other, messing with the team, getting reactions; that's what it was, and everyone knew it. The picture of them kissing was just a show. They were at a charity ball for, Clint didn't even remember, but Steve was dancing with a wealthy widow, whose husband had fought in WWII. Steve hadn't even known the guy, but the press were eating it up. Clint made a bet with Tony that he could get the bigger headline. Turned out that Tony Stark kissing a male teammate was way more interesting than Captain America being a gentleman; who knew?

Fake flirting; until, suddenly, it wasn't fake anymore.

Clint was trying out some new arrowheads he and Tony had designed, and he had missed. It was, of course, the arrowhead, the weight wasn't right; Clint didn't miss. But Tony started going off about Clint's form being crap.

"Here let me show you, Clint," Tony said, coming up behind him.

Clint held back a laugh as Tony slipped his arms alongside his own. "You're going to show me how to shoot a bow?"

"Damn straight," Tony said, "Researched it online. Apparently you're doing it wrong."

Clint bristled a little at that, but got into his stance anyway. "I never miss."

"You just did," Tony pointed out, sounding smug.

"That wasn't-"

"No need to get all defensive," Tony said, innocently, "let me just help you out here. See, your elbow needs to be higher," he said, tracing his fingers along the underside of Clint's arm, making him raise it out of reflex.

Unexpectedly, Clint became acutely aware of everywhere their bodies were touching.

Tony's mouth was next to his ear, his breath tickling his skin as he spoke, his voice softer. "They were ridiculously high actually." Tony's other arm wrapped around Clint's chest, and he felt the reactor move with the huff of a silent laugh, "Are you being stubborn so you don't look stupid in pictures?"

Clint breathed. This was dumb, he couldn't even talk now?

"Because, I've got to tell you," Tony continued, his fingers ghosting over his arm, back up to his shoulder, while the other remained firmly around him, "any picture of you holding your bow..."

He felt Tony's tongue flick out, and no. This wasn't going to happen like some stupid tween love story. He lowered the bow and moved away from Tony, and then backwards a few steps.

Tony's brow was slightly furrowed in confusion, so maybe Clint was overreacting, maybe this was just another round of their game. But even if that was true for Tony, it felt different to Clint, something was off, so-

"Tony," he laughed, apologetically. And when had they stopped using nicknames when they were alone? "I may not do it the 'right way', but it works for me, and I'm not going to just change my style because of something you saw on youtube."

Tony nodded, not looking the least bit put out. "Hey, that's fine. Did you suddenly change your mind, or," he smirked, "were you just too busy enjoying me putting my hands all over you?"

He was suppose to snark back; he even had a quip ready, something like, 'you're the only one who's been enjoying your hands lately', but it wouldn't come out, because, for some reason this wasn't funny anymore. Just thinking that made him pause a second too long, before turning and heading for the door. What was wrong with him? That was worse than actually saying 'yes' out loud.

"Clint," he heard Tony call after him, "Hey!" He was following Clint to the door. "This is my tower, you can't hide from me here."

Clint stopped. What?

He turned as Tony caught up, but couldn't get any words out before Tony pulled him into a deep kiss.

Pain hit Clint fast, pulling him out of the memory. He sighed as he sensed Donnelly behind him. He would always give Clint a shock to announce his arrival.

"Was I interrupting something?" Donnelly asked, as the chains began to move up the pillar. "For a second there I thought I saw a smile."

As Clint's legs straightened, he tried to shake out the tight muscles. Being stuck in a cramped position between sessions left his already beaten body even more sore.

There was a click but instead of sliding along the track, the clinking continued and Clint was pulled tight against the stone, unable to move his arms away. This was new.

"You're right. We should just get started," Donnelly agreed. "Is there anything you would like to tell me about SHIELD?" He hadn't even finished the question when Clint heard a swish and a sharp pain cut across his back. His cried out with the snap that followed a second later.

A whip. So, they were done preparing him for the real stuff.

Donnelly didn't ask anymore questions, didn't say anything, merely let the swish and snap of the whip fill the air as the pain drew gasps from the archer and shredded the back of his shirt. It seemed that he was just as adept with a whip as he was with a cane. That didn't matter, Clint wouldn't-

He cried out again, when his skin finally broke open.

You know how it feels, hold it back, don't give him anymore.

He was somewhat successful but then the skin would break again and Clint would groan. Just because he knew how it felt didn't make it feel any better. His body tensed instinctively with each blow and after a while he began to sag, putting more strain on his wrists.

Clint was so focused on being silent, he was unsure of how much time passed before the chains loosened and lowered him to the ground.

He was too exhausted to take advantage or even react when Donnelly leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I'll see you tomorrow." All but one of the light holes closed as he left.

Then Clint was alone.

For now.

The team was looking for him. He could hold out. All he had to was wait; they were the ones who actually had to find him.

Clint took a slow breath and repositioned himself on the ground so that the lashes on his back weren't being pulled on. It wasn't easy, the chains holding his ankles never loosened enough for him to actually lay down.

It had only been a week and a half, he wasn't hurt too badly, he could do this. If anyone could find him it would be the team. They looked out for each other. He just had to wait.

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Thank you for commenting! If you post stories, you know that comments inspire and give you the motivation to write more.


	8. In My Remains

flashwitch got me thinking about this chapter, it felt like it was lacking, so I added a memory for Tony that I was trying to find a place for anyway. I think it fit nicely.

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+++"He was suppose to be sedated." Natasha said, as she walked back into the Hulk room with Bruce and Thor, having finished moving the last of the medical equipment out.

Tony sat on the ground next to, a still unconscious, Clint; alternating between fiddling with his phone and staring at the archer.

"They said they would keep him sedated until the swelling went down," Bruce reminded.

"And they didn't tell us that had happened," Natasha said, sounding unimpressed. "You're right Stark, fire them."

Tony didn't reply. In his lap he had a new scrub top for Clint, but had made no move to put it on him. Instead, for the past twenty minutes, he seemed to be trying to memorize the maze of scars that now covered Clint's body. He had only seen a few that were ugly and ropey, the rest would fade to discolorations. It was the sheer number of scars that was the most jarring though, they were everywhere. And while they made Tony dizzy, feeling sick, guilt and hatred warring inside; he couldn't keep himself from staring.

There had been scarring before; bullet and knife wounds here and there, the odd rope burn, all received while working for SHIELD or from his time as a mercenary. There were older ones, a few lash marks on his back, some small round burns on his arms, but Clint never brought them up, never bragged about them like the others, and therefore no one ever asked about them; though that didn't mean they couldn't guess how he had gotten them.

He reached his hand out, moving his fingers through Clint's hair, and paused when he felt a familiar line on the back of Clint's head; he knew that one.

"It feels nice when you do that," Clint said, leaning into Tony's touch. They were laying out on one of the balconies. The stars were out, but they weren't looking at them, they were really doing anything.

"Feels nice when anyone does it." Tony said, but slowed down his motion, trying to savor Clint's unguarded pleasure.

Clint shook his head. "Just you. Never liked it before, that I remember."

"Really? I thought it was a universal enjoyment."

"It was always fake. Mr. Walker would do it, I hated that bastard." Clint said, his top lip curling slightly, "And Gordon, the lion tamer, he would tousle my hair when his wife was around." Clint's head lolled to the side and he squinted his eyes as he thought, "I think she was his wife, I called her Ms. Gordon and she would always laugh, never asked why, but now I'm starting to think 'Gordon' was his first name."

Tony smiled, "Clint, you are very entertaining when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Clint scoffed, while his head moved in an uncoordinated way, contradicting his denial.

"Sure," Tony tried not to laugh.

Clint blinked a few times, looking a little lost.

"Ms. Gordon," Tony prompted.

"I got passed around a lot when Barney and I first got to the circus. I was too small for heavy labor, but I had to work or I'd get kicked out. So I became the stand in for practices or if someone got sick. Ms. Gordon used a whip too. Bet they were into some kinky shit in bed. She was a marksman with her whip, she could hit a ping pong ball off a spoon I was holding with my mouth and make it fly back to her. She'd catch it." Clint smiled, acting out the catching motion. "Beautiful. So was she, I think she was my first crush. Gordon looked pretty good too; looking good was half the show, people wouldn't care as much if an ugly guy got mauled by a lion, but a handsome guy?" Clint's voice went high, "'Oh, no! What if the lion gets him! He's so hot!'"

Tony's eyes danced as he passed a glass to Clint, "Here, you're not allowed to get less drunk yet, this is too much fun."

Clint took a sip, "He was hot, so what? He could be a real shithead when Ms. G wasn't around. He used to be better than her but had hurt his hand a couple years before I got there, so he couldn't flick it the right way anymore. Look what he did." Clint said, grabbing Tony's hand and bringing it up to the back of his head. Through the hair, Tony could feel a thick three inch long scar.

"He caught me messing around with one of the whips. It was Ms. G's and she didn't care if I looked at it. No, he was mad because I was actually hitting stuff I was aiming for. So he just had to show me how it was done. Tried to knock an apple off to top of my head. Shithead. He was going to make me stand there until he got it right. If Jacque hadn't stopped him, I'd probably have a lot more of those things, could have lost an eye," he said, letting go of Tony's hand.

Tony frowned at the memory, tracing the scar with his index finger, before pulling his hand back.

After playing catch up on the Tesseract and watching the footage of it being taken, Tony had read everything Agent had given him about the other Avengers, and then was able to dig a little deeper before Loki began parading around Stuttgart to get their attention. The first had been Bruce, of course. When SHIELD had sent him to talk to Ross, he was a little preoccupied with the, newly discovered, palladium poisoning spreading through his body. He was given the file and he had really only seen a picture of Big Green, the word Failure, and the phrase 'Super Soldier Program' before closing it, because he was completely done with people who were obsessed with Captain America. He had enough of that growing up. So, when he had opened the team files, he started having the biggest brain crush on Bruce from the moment he saw Ph.D under the video footage of the Hulk tearing up Stark Industries weapons.

He pretty much skipped Steve's file, and looking back now, by the size of it, he was pretty sure agent had put it together himself. Thor's was empty compared to the rest, other than some reports and footage from New Mexico and compiled norse mythology. He had already gone deep into Natasha's file. She had lied to him for weeks, so he got the answers, and then, after seeing footage of her in action and her background, made sure to only antagonize her occasionally.

In a group made up of enhanced being, by science, technology, and, well, godly ancestors; he had been surprised to see the file of Agent Clint Barton, archer. Not a mutant, not involved in government experiments, Apollo wasn't his dad, his eyes weren't even bionic. He was chosen to fight alongside them while 100% only human. "Compromised' was across the file, and Tony had suddenly realised that Barton had been the first person Loki had 'taken'; and Tony gave him automatic points for shooting Fury, mind control aside.

But it wasn't until after Thor had taken Loki back to Asgard that Tony decided to seriously study up. If he was going to invite these people into his tower, he needed better background checks.

Bruce was already at the Tower; Tony refused to let him go off alone again or trust SHIELD with his safety, because science bros before government whorgainzations who could change their mind and let Ross have him.

Rogers wasn't as big of a self righteous, hard nosed, savior of the universe, goody goody, as his father had painted him out to be. He still had all of those traits, but he was actually a decent guy… figured.

He had tried to look deeper into Clint's past but couldn't find anything before Clint was twelve, which just stunk of SHIELD, but he decided not to keep looking because if Clint didn't want anyone to know, he could respect that, it wasn't like he had told anyone everything that had happened those three months he was missing in Afghanistan. Plus, the first thing he found about "Hawkeye" was a circus poster of him in purple tights declaring him "The World's Greatest Marksman". There was no way Tony was going to stop loving that.

The fact that Clint was on slightly rocky ground with SHIELD only encouraged Tony to finish their floors and invite the team over sooner. There wasn't a risk of Clint going to prison, apparently being magically brainwashed wasn't the strangest thing they had ever encountered, but he was restricted to base and off active duty, pending extensive psychological evaluation. Which sounded unbelievably boring and disheartening for Clint.

Tony heard Natasha continue, "Strapping him down was just a precaution in case something happened; we would have time to react. They were never meant to actually hold him for long."

"He was doing pretty well for having a concussion," Bruce praised. "How did he even get up there?"

"You'd be surprised what Clint can do."

"He covered the lens' in iodine, turned his shirt into a weapon, I'm starting to see him as MacGyver."

"What is this, iodine?" Thor asked.

"They used it to sterilize his arm for the I.V," Bruce offered.

"What the hell?" Tony asked.

The team turned to Tony, who had moved closer and was now leaning over Clint, tracing his fingers over his neck.

"Are these… these are burns."

"What are?" Natasha asked, taking a place beside him.

"These," Tony said pointing out small round scars, evenly spaced around his neck.

"Electrical burns," Bruce said, reluctantly, "The doctors thought they were from a collar."

Tony looked incensed. "A shock collar? They put a damn shock collar on him?!"

They paused as Clint flinched at Tony's voice, but remained under.

"Perhaps it would be best if we were not in the room when he wakes," Thor suggested. "Our presence provided no comfort before."

"Let him wake up alone?" Tony asked, in disbelief, "Like he did for the last year? No way, I'm staying."

Natasha bit down on the frustration that only Tony Stark could bring out. "You can't stay in here with him Tony; he's too dangerous right now."

"He's not waking up alone."

"He won't," Natasha assured, "I'll stay in here with him for that."

"Hulk's room isn't really built for visitors, or long term...," Bruce hesitated, "guests."

"This is only temporary, we'll move him out of here and into one of the holding cells, once I've gone over it to made sure he won't be able to get out," Natasha said.

"The holding cells," Tony laughed, clearly upset. "You mean the ones I built for the sniper who killed Clint? Yeah, no. He's not our prisoner!"

"He is," Natasha said firmly. "Until we can determine what happened to him and are able to help him through it, he is our prisoner.' She looked a Bruce, "Not our guest," then to Thor, "Not our teammate," then Tony, "Not …" she didn't say it, but her eyes held sympathy, which was more than she would normally show anyone.

But it didn't matter, Tony was ready to rip her head off; when suddenly JARVIS spoke up.

**Sir.**

Tony didn't move, just continued trying to stare Natasha down.

**Sir.**

"What?" Tony snarled.

There was a pause, giving Tony enough time to look away guiltily.** Agent Couslon is attempting to enter the building. And while I am following Agent Romanoff's most recent order to keep all other SHIELD personnel out, he is most insistent.**

The three men turned to Natasha, wearing similar questioning looks.

She merely raised her brows in return. "SHIELD needed to know who he was so that I could get him back here; that doesn't mean I trust them around him right now. The Council will hear about what happened soon enough, and then we'll really have trouble. Right now, the Tower is the safest place for him."

"At least we agree on that." Tony said, stiffly. His eyes drifted over to Clint, conflict on his face. "Fine," he bit out, "Bruce and I will go see Agent. You," he said to Natasha, his gaze intense, "stay. Don't leave him alone." It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Natasha nodded.

"Thor, you good waiting outside, in case she needs backup?"

Thor nodded, "I will guard them."

"Good, good." Tony spared a last look to Clint, before turning and heading out of the room, phone passing from one hand to the other, Bruce close behind him, "J, tell Agent we'll meet him on the common floor, don't let him near this floor until we talk to him."

**Very well, Sir.**

As she watched them go, Natasha could see Tony putting his armor back in place. Soon he would be Tony Stark again; genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; covering the teammate, friend, lover. Because, while they trusted Coulson, until they knew differently, he was here for SHIELD; that meant Tony wasn't giving anything away.

* * *

The title is not set in stone. It is 'In My Remains' by Linkin Park. But if you can find a better song, tell me and I will check it out.


	9. The Razor's Edge

**TRIGGER WARNING: This is not a happy chapter for Clint… even more so. Things get worse for him. For specifics, see the notes at the end.**

* * *

- - Clint was already sagging against the pillar when the whip wrapped around his ribs, tearing open an older lash. He couldn't help but groan. He was exhausted. Donnelly had already worked him over with the cane earlier; it was the first time he had done both on the same day.

Weeks had passed with no hint that a rescue was coming. But Clint would be the last to know if there was one, and that was probably that hardest part, not knowing. Not knowing what had happened to the others after he was captured. Not knowing how close they were to finding him. Nothing Clint had seen had given him a clue as to where he was being held. He could be a block from the Tower or on the other side of the world for all he knew. The thugs were hired mercenaries. They didn't belong to a specific organization or country, and Donnelly was definitely hired as well. He never questioned Clint about anything specific, just continued to ask if there was anything Clint wanted to share with him. So, if he didn't really want information, his purpose was clear; he was meant to break Clint.

Or Clint had thought so, he wasn't sure after he had confronted Donnelly about it. Which, now that he actually thought about it, could have ended up being one of the stupidest things he had ever done. But he needed control, anything to feel like he wasn't helpless, and his words were all he had at his disposal.

He had told Donnelly that he wasn't very impressed with his questioning skills, that anyone else could have had him singing like a bird.

Yeah, stupid.

Donnelly wasn't phased, in fact, his smile had widened and he swung the whip, opening an extra long gash across Clint's back. He had felt the blood dripping down his back as Donnelly whispered, "Why would I want you to talk? I would have no one to play with if we were done with you."

So Clint wasn't sure what Donnelly wanted. It could all be an act, and if it was, bravo to Donnelly, because the man played an impressive sadist.

A week or so ago, Clint had woke to a bucket of water being tossed on him. Which actually wasn't new. They never let him out of the room so the only way he could clean up was from a bucket of soapy water being tossed on him and then hosed down once or twice a week. His shirt was unsalvageable and had been taken away, but they had left him with a small piece he could use to wipe down his body.

So, waking up soaked wasn't a surprise; it was coming to, and realizing the chains were moving him to his hanging position. The room was pitch black, meaning none of the holes were open. He tried to listen for the other person in the room but the swirl of the water down the drain prevented it.

"Hawkeye," Donnelly said, to his left, not two feet away.

Clint started and pulled on on his restraints before he could stop himself.

He heard a soft chuckle, then a small blue light sparked to life, illuminating Donnelly's face as it flickered and buzzed for a moment before turning off.

_Shit_, was all Clint could think, staring at where the cattleprod had been, hearing the water still draining, feeling the metal around his wrists and ankles.

"The collar is a too stationary for the game we're going to play." Donnelly said, his voice moving around in the darkness. "You tell me something, anything, that is true and I won't shock you; lie or refuse to speak and I will find the perfect place to stick you with this. Cooperate and this won't last very long. Clear? Lets start."

Donnelly had enjoyed playing that "game", especially when Clint finally answered. Again, stupid. But he had asked Clint if the Avengers were coming for him; not answering felt like saying 'no', so he had said 'yes', over and over until he was shaking and spasming uncontrollably, too exhausted to speak.

He could hear Nat in his mind calling him an idiot for allowing his pride to be used against him. He knew she was right. Clint had always had trouble with 'up close and personal' on missions and, well, in life in general. He liked knowing what was going on and he could never see all the pieces to the big picture when he was in the thick of it. Letting the enemy think they had the upper hand was more Natasha's area. He'd never really believed that crap about opposites attracting, not with people. But maybe it worked with family; because that was what Nat was, his sister; clashing with him in a way that worked.

Stark, on the other hand… he was enough like Clint that it had freaked them out a bit in the beginning. Their backgrounds were, in no way, similar but how they dealt with life, keeping people at least an arms length away, making jokes to throw them off, finding a safe place and holing up for however long it took? Yes. It was unsettling how easy it was too be around Stark, because Clint had to constantly check himself to make sure he wasn't actually letting him in.

Clint was crap with relationships. As soon as he let someone in, they were too close and he started missing things. Barney had been too close; he had always been too close for Clint to see. He was naive about Jason, new to being a merc, got close too soon, couldn't see that the man would turn on Clint for the right price; pure luck had saved his life. Bobbi had started getting too close, so he had messed it up, not on purpose, but, he saw later, unconsciously. He was close with Coulson, it was hard not to when the man made it clear that he trusted Clint with his life, but he worked to keep it the only way that worked for them; work was work, they were professional and they trusted each other to have the other's back. Off the clock sometimes meant movie marathons, fresh scones and drinking buddies. Having that line, the distance at work, helped Clint keep perspective. More and more though, before Loki, the line would blur and Clint would go hang out in Coulson's office, bring him coffee and tiny donuts, and Coulson would let him and actually smile at what Clint was saying.

_Friend,_ would come to mind and Clint would back off, because he had Nat, and he wasn't suppose to see all of her, that's just how she was, no matter who she was with, he knew that, and he could deal with that; but he couldn't have too many people too close. He thought the circus was his new family and had been too trusting, too giving, and where had that gotten him? Beaten, left for dead, left behind, replaced.

Clint was loyal to SHIELD now but did he trust them? … He trusted them enough. It was a job. And as long as he did his job, he was useful. Not many people could do what he did, so he knew his position was safe. SHIELD looked after their own.

Then Loki had come and Coulson was dead, and Clint didn't think it could have hurt more if they had actually been friends.

SHIELD had made the mistake this time. They had let Clint get too close and didn't see how much of threat he could be. He was sure everyone was relieved when Stark offered to house the team. They would be able to send him on missions, when he could convince them that he was over the 'recent trauma', and still keep him at a distance from SHIELD.

He didn't see much of Nat the first couple of months. They rarely worked together in the field; it took big deal missions to warrant using both of them. He only really saw her around the rest of the team. Which was how he didn't know Coulson was actually alive until he ran into him after a post mission briefing. It was an accident. The meeting had wrapped up sooner than expected and Clint had made his way toward the shooting range, because Stark still hadn't finished the one at the Tower that would 'put SHIELD's to shame'. His route had taken him right passed the physical therapy gym, where Coulson was just exiting.

Clint froze when he saw him, in gym clothes, walking with a cane, but undeniably Coulson.

Coulson caught sight of Clint and stopped, mid sentence, looking surprised and, if the twitch of his mouth was any indication, actually pleased to see him.

Only a few seconds passed, but it felt like forever, then he saw Fury behind Coulson and heard him sigh. He suddenly remembered seeing Natasha, a few weeks earlier, at the Tower, before she left for her latest mission. She had commented that he seemed to be handling things well. He had thought it was strange because it had been months since Loki, he was going on missions, and she would never just bring up something like that. Now it made sense. She knew about Coulson before she left, and believed he did as well but they were in the Tower and obviously the others weren't cleared to know, so she wasn't going to say anything outright where JARVIS could hear. He and Nat were both level 7, but apparently that was only in writing now. SHIELD obviously didn't trust him anymore.

And really, he couldn't blame them.

He turned and left, going straight to the Tower, raided Tony's liquor cabinet, in front of the team while they were watching a movie, and locked himself in his room. It wasn't that he felt safe at the Tower yet; he didn't have to trust JARVIS, just order a computer to lock the door and not let anyone in.

That didn't stop Tony from showing up at his door with the 'really good stuff', no questions asked. And damn him, because Clint didn't want to feel close to anyone at the moment; but he let him in anyway.

He needed a drinking buddy.

Fury didn't even give him enough time to prove he could keep the secret. The next day he showed up at the Tower with Coulson. Explained that he had lied, but at the time they weren't sure Coulson was going to make it, then he had been in a coma and they weren't sure if he would wake up, then what was the point until Coulson was up and about and ready to be the team's liaison with SHIELD?

Steve and Bruce had given Clint understanding looks, realizing why he was, now, so hungover. Tony had gone off on Fury and Coulson about lies and trust and bastards, and all he knew was that he never mentioned Clint and he was grateful for that.

The team forgave Coulson; hell, Clint had already forgiven him.

Clint shook his hand, said, "It's good to have you back, Sir", meant it, and left.

Obviously he had gotten too close if something like this hurt so much. He took it as a sign and backed off even further.

If only he had known that that whole situation would make the team pull him in even closer, non optional dinners and movie nights, helping Steve catch up on the times, joined by Thor when he showed up later on, talking with Bruce about countries they had both visited, joking and playing around with Tony; until, one day during a battle, he realized he had come to care about them more than he had with anyone since the circus, since Barney, and it was too late to go back.

But the most startling realization was that he didn't want to go back.

The chains started moving, pulling his attention back to the cell. He was getting scary good at zoning out during torture. He couldn't tell if he was relieved or worried.

Blearily, Clint noticed the chains stop, about halfway down the pillar, and pull his arms tight. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't kneel and rest his body. He tried standing, but, with his arms and feet secured to the pillar, it left him at an awkward angle. He heard Donnelly shift behind him, then his pants were pulled down to his knees. He managed a startled yelp before there was a hard slap across his ass, that pushed a loud yell from him. Peripherally, he saw a wide, flat strip of wood in Donnelly's hands. A cricket bat. He wasn't going to call it a paddle, that made it sound, well, confusing. He had used a paddle on Tony once, he seemed to enjoy it, but Clint had refused the 'turnabout is fair play' line Tony had tried; he knew his limits, and a man standing over him, ready to give him a "spanking" was definitely one of them.

Clint struggled to keep his breathing even as Donnelly swung away. It was more humiliating than painful, especially after the whip had tore open his back again, and no matter how he moved he couldn't get out of it's way.

He could never get away. _Just be a small target. Cover your head. You'll be in trouble if anyone finds out_.

God, no.

He could do this. He knew how to keep his head during torture, he had trained for that. That's all this was.

But this wasn't torture. No one used a paddle- cricket bat, no one used a cricket bat on someone's ass to torture them. Needles, knives, whips, water, that was torture, this… this was too close to punishment.

Punishment. _Who gets punished like this?_ Clint's attempt at a laugh sounded more like a sob, as another hit landed.

_Keep your head! Lock it down!_

**_Stop crying, you little shit!_**

Suddenly the blows stopped and he felt Donnelly's arm snake around his bare hips and pull him close. Too close. Too close.

Fingers gripped his hair and pulled back sharply.

"Look at you," Donnelly mussed, with what sounded like twisted affection. "That's more of a reaction than I've gotten in a while, and I haven't even done anything…" He heard a zipper. "...yet."

**_Clinton_**, another voice whispered in his mind; his surrounding faded away. _**Why are you acting like this, Clinton? I haven't done anything. Did I hit you? No, I didn't, I'm not like your father, I won't hurt you. **__Please go away. __**I just wanted to give you a reward for being so good today.**_

He heard yelling and pain flared across his back, bringing him back to himself. The sound died in his throat as he realized he was the one who had been yelling. He felt Donnelly's hand resting on his back; he had raked his fingers across the fresh lashes to get Clint's attention.

"Yeah, there you are," Donnelly chuckled. "What if I told you I would stop if you begged?"

That wouldn't happen, it was a trap. If he didn't beg, he had no one to blame but himself, but if he did Donnelly would still rape him, either way Clint learned a lesson.

_But what if he would stop?_

_They never stop._

_Did it matter? Even if he stopped, by getting Clint to beg, Donnelly would still win. Don't give him anything._

_'Don't give him anything?' He can take everything he wants, and there's nothing you can do about it._

_**Clinton.**_

"No!" He yelled, putting everything he had left into trying to get out of Donnelly's grip. "Son of a bitch! Get your hands off me!"

Donnelly laughed. _Bastard._

"That's what I was hoping for," Donnelly said, wrapping both his arms more fully around Clint, to keep him still, as he leaned over him. "You've been here for a month now, did you know that?"

Clint snarled, still trying to buck away. He did know. They weren't even bothering to mess with his sense of time. He knew each day as it passed. And maybe that was what they wanted.

Donnelly continued, his fingers digging painfully into Clint's skin, "A month and, still, no one's come for you. I thought you deserved something special to help you remember that. Because if anyone cared enough to come and get you, this wouldn't have happened."

This time, when the pain hit, it tore him apart, and Clint couldn't stop himself from screaming.

* * *

**Trigger Warning: Graphic and non graphic torture, mentions and memories of past child physical and sexual abuse, creepy talking and touching that will lead to rape that is not described.**

**Chapter Title: The Razor's Edge by Digital Daggers**


	10. Shovel Off

I had actually planned on having this out last week, but you know how it goes, sometimes you just can't figure out what is wrong with a chapter, or what it is missing, so you have to hold off posting.

Also, I went back to beginning to give a better warning, but I will also put it here. This story is 'M' for a reason. It will be dark and horrible. There is torture and rape and talk/ memories about past abuse and rape, it will not be explicit but it will be there. Most a lot of creepy touching. Not in this chapter though. This is one of the nicer chapters, take it how you will.

* * *

+++"We've been getting reports of an assassin using a bow."

Coulson paused. "Well that's certainly a way to stand out."

"Find him," Fury ordered, passing over a folder.

"Elimination?" Coulson asked, taking the paperwork.

"Or recruitment. Not sure yet. Depends on what you discover."

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"Clinton Barton," Coulson said, keeping his gun trained on the assassin while he stepped onto the roof.

"Creepy Suit," Barton countered, gun not wavering. He kept his dislocated shoulder back, to be unnoticed, and, with only a half moon out that night, it might have been, if Coulson hadn't been there to see it pop out when Barton caught himself on the fire escape.

"We should talk," Coulson tried, casually, not frowning at the growing bruise on the archer's lower jaw. The man had not been having a good night. It was obvious that Barton's employer had not told him it was an open hit, and not an assured job.

"We're talking," Barton said, stiffly, adjusting his grip on the gun when it began to droop.

"Privately."

Barton blinked, slowly, seeming tired. "I'd ask you to my place, but that's moving a little fast for me."

Neither lowered their guns.

"My place then?"

Barton's brows rose. "Still too fast."

"Not fast enough."

"Excuse me?" Barton asked, the blink taking a whole second this time.

"The sedative," Coulson clarified, "it's taken too long to work through your adrenaline. I'll need to talk to R&D about that."

"Wha…" Barton's voice slurred; he looked down. Sticking out of his dislocated shoulder was a dart. "Son of a…" He tried to aim his gun but Coulson was already to him, stopping the movement and quickly disarming him, catching him when his knees gave way.

"It's alright Barton, I've got you."

The archer was too gone to answer, but his eyes, Coulson winced at the raw fear.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he reassured, before the grey eyes closed.

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"Fix your archer Coulson," Fury said, entering the office.

"Sir?"

"Do you know how many complaints I've gotten about him? Of course you do because as his S.O. they would come to you first, so don't act surprised that I'm here."

"I'm not, Sir, but I'm already doing everything I can with him. It's simply going to take time."

Fury narrowed his eye. "What's going to take time?"

"Trust," Coulson said, simply.

"He's got a long way to prove-"

"His trust in us, Sir."

Fury paused. "You know that's not how this works, Coulson."

Phil nodded. "It going to have to be this time. You've read his file, he's loyal. Surprisingly loyal, since it's never paid off for him in the past. We get his loyalty and we'll have it until we screw up."

Fury's brow raised. "Until **we** screw up?"

"Unless we screw up, he'll be loyal to his last breath, Sir."

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"Clint."

Coulson could hear the horror in Stark's voice. Before he could call for a report, Stark was yelling, screaming 'no' over and over. Everyone tried to get his attention but Coulson wasn't sure he can hear them.

The next few moments were a lifetime. None of the others could get to Stark until the signal was found. Coulson tried to take the command van around the battle zone but only managed to arrive just after the rest of the team.

The first thing he saw was Hulk splashing around in the river. It might have been an amusing sight, if Natasha wasn't running along the same river, searching the water, her movements raw, having none of her normal control. There was a trail of suit pieces and blood leading from the bridge to where Thor and Steve were trying to hold Tony back from the river; and he was completely Tony, not a shred of his Stark personality showing through as he yelled Clint's name.

Before Phil realized it, he was running to the bridge, yelling into his radio, "We need medics and a water search and rescue team to the High Bridge at the Harlem River, now!"

88888888

He had been in Europe when he had gotten the call from Fury. 'Barton's alive' was not anywhere near what he was expecting to hear.

Barton's alive.

Clint was alive.

And trying to kill his team.

The elevator flew upward, not giving Coulson much time to prepare himself. JARVIS had informed him that Stark and Dr. Banner were expecting him on the common floor. He could read between the lines; he wasn't allowed to see Clint yet. Good. That meant the team was protecting him.

He took a breath, as the elevator stopped, and stepped off, onto the common floor.

Bruce was standing by the window, arms folded across his chest; he briefly glanced at Phil but then turned back to the window.

"Agent!" Stark called, from behind his bar, "Care for a drink?" If Coulson hadn't been listening for it, he wouldn't have heard the undercurrent of tension in Tony's normal flippant tone.

A drink. It was a test. The first of many, no doubt. He would need to tread carefully around the team, if they were this on edge around him, and make sure no one else came.

"Sure, I could use one, or two."

"Couldn't we all?" Tony mussed, grabbing the two glasses and walking down to Coulson. "So what brings you here, Agent?" he asked as he handed him a glass.

"We don't need to do this, Tony," Phil tried. "I'm here for Clint. I came as soon as I could."

A polite, strained smile was locked on Tony's face as he looked at Phil expectantly.

Phil sighed. "Fury called me in from Europe, I was still tying up the loose ends of Roger's last mission. I would have been here sooner but I was held up at SHIELD. They tried to update me on what was going on and I wanted to make sure Rogers was being taken care of."

He saw a flash of guilt in Tony's eyes. Right now the rest of team was at the Tower, while Steve was unconscious and alone in SHIELD medical.

"Is he…" Bruce began, walking over from the window. "Did something happen?"

"Steve is as well as he can be, still sedated," Phil assured. "There was misfiled paperwork. He was about to be transferred to the Helicarrier."

At their wary looks he continued. "Some SHIELD personnel can be surprising protective of a national icon; but that kind of transfer can only be done with my signature or with a teammate present to ride along." He smiled. "I made sure that clause was included in the paperwork that was needed for medical to treat all of you, post battle. Don't worry, I put Sitwell on watch, he's not going anywhere."

"Yes he is, he's coming here." Tony said.

"Tony-" Coulson started.

"He's just sedated now, right?" Tony asked, his voice sharp.

Phil nodded. "He needed some help at first, to stabilize, but then his system caught up and took care of the rest of the compound."

"Then he needs to be here with his team. He doesn't need to be at SHIELD."

"As soon as he wakes up and learns what's going on, he'll demand to come here anyway, just like Thor," Bruce reasoned.

"I'll set it up," Phil agreed, then sighed. "If you want to keep this within the team I'll understand, but… will you tell me anything about Clint?"

Tony frowned slightly at the meek tone. He was used to Agent being unassuming, but the last time Coulson had asked that, he had sounded far more in control.

88888888

"Tell me about Clint," Coulson said, leading Tony down a path in Central Park.

"I'm pretty sure you know more about him than I do, Agent," Tony chuckled, trying not to show how nervous he was, already guessing what this was about. Romanoff had already said her part on the matter of Clint and his recently outed relationship; and by 'said her part' he meant she had flat out threatened him. He was pouring himself some coffee a few mornings ago when she had come into the kitchen to make some toast. Her voice had never risen above a pleasant morning hum but he had never been so intimidated by a butter knife in his life. He knew she could and would make good on everything she said she would do to him if he ever treated Clint like one of the "easy, fame seeking sluts" that he used to, what had she said? Hump and dump? She might have actually said that in more than one language. By the end, Tony was actually at a loss for words, holding his cooling coffee, feeling slightly off balance, mouth hanging open as she left with her toast.

"You might be surprised about that," Coulson said, "and I certainly have never known him as intimately as you currently do."

Tony gave Phil a suggestive smile, "Are you asking for the juicy details, Agent?"

"If I wanted to know those kind details, Tony, I wouldn't ask."

Tony looked surprised for a split second, then laughed, "Just when I think I've started to figure you out, Agent, 'WAM!" flat on my ass. You are wasted at SHIELD."

Coulson gave a small smile. "Tony…"

Tony sighed, losing some of his swagger, his voice uncommonly sincere, "What can I say, he's one of a kind. I could look the rest of my life and not find anyone as interesting as Clint. He keeps me on my toes. Gangs up with JARVIS against me. He told me where he was hiding his Hardy Boys books, and I'm sure if I wasn't snooping around his room he would have eventually told me about them anyway.

Phil paused, to process, then said, "You're being surprisingly candid about this, Tony."

Tony looked uncomfortable, and obviously annoyed that he was, "I don't want you thinking that I'm just using him; that I'll get bored and drop him. Your opinion is important, because if anyone could talk him out of this, it would be you, Coulson."

Phil tried not to focus on the fact that Tony had actually used his name. "You think so?"

"You weren't in the Tower those months before we were clued in about you being alive. He was doing a good impression of a zombie. He wasn't sleeping, wouldn't really talk to anyone; but when he did, it was always about how 'Coulson had a broken hand and still got more paperwork done in one day then the rest of SHIELD worldwide', and we 'would avoid highlighters too if we had seen what Coulson could do with one' and 'Coulson wouldn't have let that happen', 'Coulson took us to this karaoke bar once', and I wouldn't have believed that story if Romanoff hadn't shown me some hilarious pictures. I honestly held off making a move for so long because I thought he was in love with you."

Coulson started, like someone had slapped him.

Tony went on, "But then nothing ever happened, so if he was never in love with you, you were BFFs on a legendary level because I'm pretty sure he thinks you're the answer to life, the universe and everything."

Tony stopped and turned around when he realized Coulson wasn't next to him anymore.

Phil was back a few steps, eyes closed, looking pained.

"Agent?"

Coulson opened his eyes, looking to Tony, "I lost the right to call him my friend when I didn't seek him out after I woke up, for believing he knew I was alive, yet hadn't come to see me. I thought the reaction was normal for him, and I was probably right, but that just made the lie easier to buy."

"And yet you're still working for them," Tony pointed out.

"They made a bad call with Clint. Fury understood that."

"So it was Fury who made the call?"

"Ultimately, yes."

"But he had some persuading."

"The Council was not convinced of Clint's loyalty, and ordered Fury to block him out for a time."

88888888

"This was handled badly, Nick."

"I did what I had to, Coulson. Things are not easy right now. We may have been able to effectively shut the Council up about most things pertaining to the Avengers, that doesn't mean I can override them on everything."

"And you chose to give in with Barton."

Fury gave an annoyed huff, "Can you work him passed this or not?"

Coulson considered it for a moment. "If I needed to, probably not, but since he still trusts and is loyal to SHIELD…"

This should have been good news, yet Fury's frown deepened. "Is he?"

"Yes. It's himself he no longer trusts. This whole situation merely confirmed that idea to him."

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Tony shook his head ruefully.

Coulson went on, "Even before this Clint never considered me his friend."

Tony looked at him, confused.

"I have considered him my friend for many years, so I have taken what he is able to give in return."

"That doesn't make sense, not with the way he talked about you, still talks about you. And I've got proof, Romanoff has those pictures."

"That was after hours."

"Yeah, friends hang out after work."

Coulson shook his head.

"No?" Tony began to look troubled. "Clint and Romanoff?"

"Closer than friends."

Tony paused. "The team?"

"The team," Coulson began, a small smile forming, "has done something that I have been unable to since Clint was brought in. You are his friends. He calls you his friends and he would do any for you."

Tony shook his head. "He would do anything for you, Agent."

Coulson's smile was sad. "I know."

"You're his friend too."

"I was his friend," he acknowledged, "But he never realized it. I was too close too fast. He never even realized he had already let me in. I brought him into SHIELD, I know you read about that. Tranqued him and said I wouldn't hurt him while he was out. Later on I realized that I had done something that not many people in his life had done before; I had kept my word. He started letting me in before he realized it and before he wanted to. But by bringing him in he immediately put me in a position of authority in his mind." Phil paused. "How has your experience been with people who have any kind of authority over you, Tony?"

Tony frowned.

"If I may?" Coulson offered.

A little wary, Tony nodded for him to continue.

"Your father wasn't much of a father to you, one of your caregivers, when you were a child, betrayed your trust, and then a father figure exploited and lied to you before trying to kill you."

Straightforward as always. Tony thought about the nanny who had aided in an attempted kidnapping when he was seven. "That's a pretty simplistic version of things."

"If I went into more detail you wouldn't seem to have so much in common with Clint."

Tony blinked and immediately went over what Coulson had said. Father. Caregiver. Father figure. They hadn't been hurt in precisely the same ways, but by similar people. Clint's father, Tony and the others had already guessed, had been physically abusive. A caregiver, was probably after Clint parents had died and he and his brother were put into the system. Clint had told him that much. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know how Clint's trust had been betrayed, anything he came up with made him sick. Father figure. Clint hadn't looked up to anyone while he was a merc so it would have been at the circus, while Clint was still a minor. And no. He definitely didn't want to think that someone Clint had trusted and admired had tried to kill him when he was still a kid. Clint never brought up why he left the circus, and anything Tony had looked up had said there had been an accident. Accident. Right.

"Who has authority over you now, Tony?"

"No one, if I can help it," Tony answered, honestly.

Coulson nodded. "Rogers, as team leader?"

"I like to think of it as a co leadership."

Coulson gave him a look.

"And, tactically, I'll defer to him," he allowed.

"You take orders from him."

Tony did not look happy with that. "Sometimes, sure, what's your point?" he snapped.

"I'm proud of you." Coulson said, simply.

It was Tony's turn to look surprised.

"You don't trust easily and allowing Steve to have that position in the field must have taken a lot of courage."

Tony's brain said the words should have sounded sarcastic or demeaning, going off of past experience, but they were sincere. He looked away, blinking. Damn, sneaky, bastard Agent.

Tony threw on a smile. "I've got everything in spades."

Coulson briefly smiled back, then frowned. "And if Steve had taken advantage of that and broke your trust?"

"Steve's a boy scout," Tony reluctantly muttered.

"But if he had," Coulson pushed, "It would have confirmed everything life had taught you to be true. You would have never been able to trust him again and that would have hurt you more than you would be willing to admit."

"That sounds a bit over the top."

"From what I understand, as a child you had quite an impressive Captain America collection, and still do, in storage."

"I knew it!" Tony yelled, pointing a finger at Coulson, "You were the one trying to get into my stuff! Couldn't be happy with those mint cards I gave you, had to see what else I had." He shook his head. "What would Captain America think?"

Coulson was only just able to keep a smile off his face, he quickly coughed to the side and went on. "That's what I did to Clint."

"No, Agent-"

"Thankfully, you and the rest of the team were there for him, but he can only trust so many more times and have it thrown back in his face, before he stops trying."

Tony frowned, "You don't think you're not giving him enough credit?"

"Tony, you hide your insecurities in such elaborate boxes that sometimes you even forget that they're there. Clint, he carries his on his shoulders. He may be strong, but you carry anything for long enough and it will become too heavy."

Coulson started walking back the way they came and Tony followed.

After a few minutes Coulson spoke up. "You're right, Tony, Clint would do anything for me… and I would do anything for him."

"I'll take care of him," Tony promised, "Whether this works out or not, I'll do everything I can not to hurt him."

Coulson nodded in appreciation, "Thank you."

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"How about you tell us about SHIELD first." Tony said, but now he was starting to feel like a dick. "What's their plan for this?"

"Director Fury and I talked about it, and we agreed that Natasha made the right call bringing Clint here. He attacked the Avengers, not SHIELD, so your team can choose to leave SHIELD out of this; especially since no one died and no one will be pressing charges. Clint's SHIELD contract ended a year ago and I'm in no rush to fix that, we'll put him on administrative leave and maybe even a sabbatical, he's do for one. I can tie this up in a nice little package but I don't know if that will be enough to stop the Council from trying something. Keeping Clint out of the loop at SHIELD was a way to appease them, so they would stop pushing for more extreme consequences for a situation he had no control over. This one-"

"Is not his fault either."

"It's not," Coulson agreed. "And we are all doing everything we can to make sure he is taken care of."

"Here," Tony clarified. "He's not going anywhere near SHIELD for the foreseeable future."

Coulson nodded, "That would be for the best."

Silence filled the room as Coulson looked between Tony and Bruce, expectantly.

Tony sighed, downing his glass quickly and motioned for Bruce to hand Coulson a folder. "You're going to want to sit down, Phil."

* * *

In case it caught anyone's interest, I am planning on writing a one shot about Tony finding about Clint's Hardy Boys book collection and the events that followed. It was going to a memory in the story, but got too big.

If anyone has any requests for memories or future happenings, the suggestion box will be open for the remainder of 'Lies'.


	11. …We Tell Ourselves

+ + +Natasha sat a few feet in front of the open doorway, for easy escape, in case Clint wanted to go another round, because she didn't. At least she had time to go over how she was going to work this situation, not that it was helping. She never had a set way of working around Clint, she would decide something and always ended up changing it. She had tried to seduce him early on, after he had brought her in, well, even before he brought her in, but he hadn't gone for it. Then she was aloof and dismissive and he had followed her around like a puppy, but when she had tried that again, he had ignored her as well. She had never felt less in control in a relationship and she hated it. Then, suddenly, they fit together like a puzzle. She would have felt relieved about finally getting it right, but she had stopped trying weeks before. She didn't understand what had happened, so she didn't think about it, she had what she wanted, she had thought. They began sleeping together, and while it ended up being fun, it was obvious they didn't fit together that way. So they became friends and she started getting a better read on him, and then, somehow, they became more than friends, and being able to read him didn't matter anymore.

Natasha could tell when Clint started coming around. Like her, he had always been good at hiding it, helped with gathering information, but they were also able to see passed these things.

"You might as well sit up, I know you're awake."

Clint's eyes opened, moving over the room, as he slowly sat up. He looked at the shirt on the floor in front of him, then down at his bare chest, before moving to her. He made no move to pick up the shirt, didn't even cross his arms, just sat there, seemingly daring her to look at him.

"You're in the Hulk room in the Tower, Clint, we're not going to hurt you."

"Comforting the prisoner, that's an old trick, don't you think, Romanoff?"

She saw his eyes sweep over the door and the space between them, calculating time, distance.

He continued, "But you were always so talented at being the 'good cop'..." he said, suggestively, "you were probably the best one to send in here first."

His body shifted ever so slightly.

That was enough of that.

"I can easily make it out the door before you get over here," she said, and let it sink in a second, "so why don't we try just sitting and we can talk?"

Clint studied her a moment, he didn't relax but allowed himself to lean back against the wall, and waited.

They both waited.

Instinctively, she knew if she tried to outlast him, he would win. It would be the first time. But he had been in captivity for over a year, if any of the torture had been to get information, then Clint would have learned to be silent. You could only snark for so long before your mouth would get away from you.

There was no point in drawing this out. "We thought you were dead," she said.

Clint brows lifted a fraction and he huffed a breathe as he rocked his head in a nod.

She was having trouble reading him. "We did."

"I believe you," Clint said.

And she could tell he did, but something was off, there was more to what he was saying but she couldn't see it.

Clint continued, "It must have been a real surprise to see me alive then." His eyes studied her like he was trying to find the perfect place to stick a knife.

"Surprise would be an understatement. It hit the team pretty hard." She paused. "Tony especially."

Clint eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Yeah, I saw he was still alive. I thought I aimed for his heart. Should have known he could fix it right up. At least next time I'll know to aim for the fleshy one."

"Next time?" Natasha was surprised at how much this conversation was already beginning to get to her. "You think you're going to get another chance?"

"I almost did. Nice reflexes by the way. You're still in top form. Or, almost. I gave you a good run there for a bit."

"You did."

This couldn't be Clint, it was just like it was in the beginning, she couldn't read anything off of him, at least not anything that would be useful.

"Do you know why you attacked us, Clint? Or were you just doing what they told you to?"

"'They'?" Clint teased, with barely a smile, "Do you you even know who 'they' are, Romanoff?"

He was making a point of not using her first name.

"Do you?" she countered.

Clint jerked his shoulder, "No. But that doesn't matter. Whoever 'they' are, wanted you dead, so I set this up. We both know I won't follow orders I don't like." He leaned forward, slightly, his voice hard and vicious, "And I really liked these ones."

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"Do you not have orders to kill me on sight?" Natalia asked, tired of waiting for the agent to shoot.

"'On sight' would have been a few days ago," Barton said, keeping his gun trained on the Widow. "You don't hide as well as you think."

"Or," Natalia said, studying his sharp gaze, "You are not given enough credit, Hawkeye."

"It's in the name, not my fault if it doesn't clue people in," he shrugged, with false modesty.

"So you will not shoot me?" She asked, tilting her head and shifting her body to a more open position.

Barton gave her a look, "Saying no would kinda defeat the purpose of pointing a gun at you."

This was taking too long; if he wasn't going to kill her she needed to be on the move. She gave him a shy smile,"You wish to do something else with me then?"

He smiled back at her, "That depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not you actually want to die."

Natalia blinked, "What?"

"Do you actually want to die? Because the way things are going for you, you're not going to make it much longer. But you're smart enough to know that, so I've got to think that's your plan, your endgame."

"You know nothing," she spat.

"I know you didn't want to kill that girl."

Natalia froze.

"Drakov's daughter? You were purposely given bad intel, you didn't know she was coming to see him that night. You probably thought it was a guard coming to check on the noise." He hesitated. "She was a dancer, wasn't she?"

In a blink Natalia had a knife in the air, but Barton had also fired the gun.

She closed her eyes, expecting pain and then nothingness. This was the famous Hawkeye, he didn't miss. But when there was no pain and she was able to open her eyes, she thought she might need to rethink that. The bullet had hit a few centimeters to the right of her ear. She looked to the agent.

He had dodged the knife well enough, but it had still caught him on his side, by his ribs.

"I didn't miss," Barton said, his voice clipped. "We were still talking. Shooting you would have been rude."

Natalia showed no sympathy.

"I might have deserved that," Barton allowed. "But do you really think you deserve to die?"

He couldn't be serious. He must be infatuated with her.

He continued, "That's seems to be letting yourself off easy."

Natalia frowned, "Excuse me?"

"Sure, you could let someone kill you, then you wouldn't have to deal with any of this shit anymore. But the people who sent you to take out Drakov didn't care that his daughter would be there, didn't care that she could end up dead."

She raised an eyebrow, "And you believe I do care?"

Barton motioned to his fresh knife wound, but she barely glanced at it, she was studying his gaze again. There was something familiar there.

"We could stop them," Barton offered.

She gave him a questioning look.

"The people that don't care about kids," he clarified, "Who don't care if they're collateral damage."

"That is very idealistic," Natalia scoffed.

Barton's eyes hardened, "No child should see those kind of things, or be a part of them. You feel the same way or you wouldn't have gone rogue after that hit."

Natalia sat quietly, thinking. "What makes your SHIELD any better?"

Barton smiled and challenged, "Why don't you come in and find out?"

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"When did you figure out it was me? You had to take off the mask, didn't you?"

"The bow should have given it away," Natasha admitted.

"I do have killer aim," Clint bragged. But, again, Natasha could tell there was more to what he was saying.

"You were always the best," she agreed.

"Yeah, I know what I'm good for."

Natasha pursed her lips, he was starting to slip. "More than your aim."

Clint made a show of acting like he was thinking it over, "You're right. I have been told I'm a decent lay. But you already know that."

"Better than decent," she amended, "if I remember correctly. But you were also a willing participant with me, so…"

Clint held her gaze longer than she expected, but he still looked away first, letting his eyes sweep the room. "So, Hulk's room. Somehow I don't think SHIELD was in on this decision."

"I brought you here. SHIELD doesn't need to be involved. This is an Avenger matter."

"Wanted the first crack at me? I bet you'll enjoy it. Working me over."

"I would never do that to you Clint," she defended.

"Then why are you even in here, Romanoff? Not for payback or torture. Maybe trying to see how much of a hold you still have over me?"

"Hold?" She asked, not liking where this seemed to be going.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. I would have done anything for you. Asked how high and everything."

"But not anymore?" She prompted.

Clint shook his head. "If you were capable of it, you would have laughed your ass off at me; just like every other man, mooning over you like some lovesick teenager."

"You never-"

"Well you must have found it entertaining, for you to keep me around for so long. What's your average relationship? A day? A week? However long the mission is? But that is who you are, the Black Widow, killing someone while 'I love you' still hangs on your lips. You really are perfect, Romanoff. Perfect in lies and murder. I didn't think about it before, but what kind of hero goes by Black Widow? You didn't even bother to change it. You obviously wanted people to continue to fear you but you must have also known the truth… you're no hero, you'll never be one. You're going to drown in the blood you've spilt."

Silence. She kept her face neutral, "So reminiscing seems to be out of the question."

Clint laughed, but it didn't sound like him, or maybe it did now; hollow but hate filled. "Ever the professional, Romanoff. I wouldn't expect anything less than calm and collected while you flip off the world. That's my girl."

Natasha wanted to leave. She could barely stand to look at what was done to Clint, what his captors had turned him into.

"But you never were mine, were you? You blinded me from the beginning. Never the Red Room's either. They just peeled back your innocent skin to expose the real you. A sadistic murdering whore. You had to be the best. What was the point if you weren't? The best at murdering. What an interesting thing to strive for. What does that say about someone?"

Natasha stood.

"It means they want to be alone. Because who could actually love a murderer? No one. No one loves them." Clint spat. "So here you are. Pulling people close even as you push them away. Forever your own."

Natasha stepped backwards through the doorway.

"Finished already?" Clint asked, not sounding curious at all.

She turned to leave, signally the door to close.

"Hey Romanoff!" She looked back to Clint. He wasn't smiling, she couldn't read anything off him as he mouthed 'I love you' before the doors snapped close.

The hallway was empty, Thor would be waiting in the living room, so she let herself take a deep shuddering breath. Clint thought he had won that round and she would let him. She wasn't sure she wanted him to know what he had revealed.

_They just peeled back your innocent skin to expose the real you._ You didn't come. You didn't come and they tortured me until realized why.

_A sadistic murdering whore._ I wanted to kill them all, watch them scream in pain, begging for mercy the way I was. I could have fought back more, but I let them do this to me.

_You had to be the best. What was the point if you weren't_. If I'm not best, no will want me. I was the best in the circus and they still didn't want me. I'm only as useful as my next shot.

_The best at murdering._ What else would a markman be good at? So I turned to murder and it's sick how good I am at it.

_It means they want to be alone._ Why pull anyone else down with me?

_Because who could actually love a murderer? No one. No one loves them._ And that's all I am. Good for nothing else. It's no wonder you never came for me.

_Pulling people close even as you push them away._ Because that's what I have to do to survive.

_Forever your own_. Forever.

Natasha needed to get away. She hurried down the hallway, further away from his eyes.

It was unnerving, because there was a complete lack of expression in his gaze, only calculation. The only other time she had seen him like this was when they had fought on the Helicarrier. She would have prefered the luminescent empty eyes now, if only to know it wasn't him.

As she came into the living room Thor stepped into her path, making her stop a foot or two before him.

"Natasha." His voice was sorrowful, his posture meek.

Movement on the tv caught her attention. It was showing Hulk's room. Thor had seen the entire exchange.

She made to move around him, but he again blocked her way.

"He does not know what he says," Thor said, softly.

Natasha smile, sadly, "He does Thor. We're going to need to warn the others to keep their guard up when talking to him."

She saw his hands twitch. "What can I do for you, Natasha?"

She clenched her jaw, and looked him in the eye, "Are you trying to coddle me, Thor?"

He smiled slightly, "I would no sooner kiss a Bilgesnipe."

Natasha raised a brow, "A Bilgesnipe, really? I heard you talking to Coulson about those, you know?"

Thor, for a moment, looked at a loss, "That was… it came out not as I intended."

She tried to produce a soft laugh but it turned into a wince. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead against Thor's chest. She found it comforting that even in jeans and a t-shirt, he was still Thor. There was no lie to him; he was who he was and she didn't have to dig into him to discover the truth.

Thor immediately stopped his apology and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in closer. And she let him.

She was going soft.

"This will be righted," Thor soothed.

Natasha wanted to snap something back at him but, for once, lately, it was nice to have someone else telling her things would get better.


	12. This Isn't Misery

- - - Pain. So much tiring pain that Clint didn't want to wake up. But then someone was touching him. No. No more.

He jerked away from the hands. He could only move so far, his arms were still held up above him, but had been loosened, finally allowing him to kneel; chains pooled slightly around his ankles; he had been given enough length to finally lay down, if Donnelly ever lowered his arms.

His vision was already swimming but, _Screw it_. Clint kicked back with his right leg, hoping to hit something, but whoever was back there had moved out of his range. He looked back, blinking away the blurred vision. Two of the holes were open, letting in enough daylight to give him a good look at the other man.

Medium brown hair, peppered on the sides, long enough for some curl to show at the ends. Average build, toned. Brown shirt, green combat pants, army colors. He had, maybe, ten years on Clint. He was kneeling next to a bucket of water. He held up his hands, wearing latex gloves, a sponge in one of them, trying to be reassuring, "Relax, I'm not here to hurt you." American accent.

_Yeah, right_. Clint shook his head, still keeping himself as far away from the guy as possible. "Don't touch me," he croaked, and ended up coughing.

The man paused. "I'm going to have to," he said, giving the sponge in his hand a little shake, making it fling water around.

Clint frowned, looking down at the bucket again. His mind was working too slowly. Why didn't the guy just throw the water on him?

"It was suggested that the hose wouldn't be enough today," then, more reluctantly, "I need to check you over, Agent Barton."

"Go to hell," he panted. Just being upright and conscious was wearing on him, he wouldn't be able to do anything else.

Somehow sensing that, Bucket Guy moved forward and started cleaning Clint's back. He flinched when the sponge went lower, and the man halted a moment then continued down, saying, "I'm not actually here for that either."

Clint tried to focus on his breathing, and not the hands. He didn't want anymore hands on him. No. But no didn't matter. And now that the water was here he couldn't seem to ignore how dirty he felt, or fool himself into believing it was only blood staining his skin.

The sponge moved between his legs but never lingered in one place.

Clint tried to zone out, but was only able to get to the point of caring less; the water dripping across his skin was too distracting. Bucket Guy sticking his fingers where they weren't wanted didn't help but, again, he didn't linger. He even helped Clint pull up his pants when he was done.

There was a scrape as the bucket was picked up and he heard the man walking away.

"What, no, 'you should be fine', Bucket Guy?" Clint tried to snarl.

He heard the water slosh.

"Unless you're ready to talk to Donnelly, that would be a pretty stupid thing to say."

There was silence, like he was actually waiting for an answer, then the water sloshed again and he heard the door slide open and close.

Yeah, that would be pretty stupid.

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Donnelly left him alone for a few days, and Clint was thankful; not to Donnelly, because he could go screw himself, and… things like that used to be funny.

He had a small metal cup that was filled with water a few times a day. He had tried to use it as a weapon, but that had only gotten it taken away for a few days, so he left it alone. Meals usually consisted of energy bars, military rations, or a peanut butter sandwich, no jelly.

After Bucket Guy left, the chains loosened and Clint slumped to the ground in relief. It took him longer than he liked to notice the tray of food to his left. Actual food. Baked potato and an apple. He must have stared at it for at least five minute before he trusted himself enough to move. He wanted to throw the tray across the room. It looked like a pat on the head, and words like 'conditioning' wouldn't budge from his mind.

_Bastard!_

But he breathed, slowly. _Stuff the pride, Barton, you need to survive. Eat the damn food, let Donnelly believe he's winning._

Sure. Yeah. He could do that.

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"I wasn't going to say anything," Donnelly began, when the chains clicked into place at the end of the track.

Clint glance at what Donnelly was holding. It looked like a newspaper clipping. It was laminated. Sure, he wasn't going to say anything.

"But this belief that the Avengers are coming for you is becoming idiotic. Apparently, they couldn't care less that you're gone."

What? "What?"

"Why would they come for you, when they've already replaced you?" Donnelly held up the laminated paper. WHO IS THE NEW AVENGER? with a photograph that was obviously taken from a distance; a slightly blurred candid shot, showing a man with a sniper rifle standing next to Captain America.

Clint blinked, then shook his head. It could easily be a faked. And even if it wasn't, if the Avengers got called out while he was still missing they would need someone to cover them. This didn't mean anything. They were still looking for him. He knew how Steve felt about leaving men behind; it was something that didn't happen, he would come for Clint by himself if he had to. Natasha had that thing about owning him a debt, not that it was really about that anymore; it was just her way of telling him that she had his back. Thor was as honorable as they come. Bruce was loyal and would guilt himself way too much to not try. And Tony… Tony…

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"JARVIS, how long has Tony been down in his lab?"

"Going on seventeen hours, Clint."

Clint hummed. "Anyway I can order you to shut down his computers?"

"Unfortunately no, Sir."

Clint looked around, and started humming a beat, as a smiled formed.

Forty five minutes later Tony stepped off the elevator, hollering, "Clint! You wouldn't happen to know anything about a contaminate in the lab ventilation system, would you? JARVIS said it wasn't safe to be in there until he could… is that a stuffed crust pizza?"

"Yep," Clint said, his mouth full. He quickly swallowed, "I was just about to watch 'Iron Giant', want to join me?"

Tony squinted his eyes and looked around suspiciously.

Clint smiled and held up a bag of yogurt covered blueberries.

Tony huffed a laugh and smiled, shaking his head, "Why not?"

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Tony wouldn't leave him. He would come. It had been over a month, Tony must be freaking out, not being able to find him.

Donnelly stuck the clipping to the wall with some tape.

_Really?_

Donnelly was crazy. Acting like a eight year old and then turning around and very calmly beating Clint to a pulp.

The next day his pants were shredded by the whip and the remains were taken away. They didn't bring him any replacements. Why would they? Naked Hawkeye was so much more accessible.

A few days later, after a beating, Donnelly took a knife to him. It was a small thing, about the length of his ring finger, with an orange plastic handle. In fact, Clint was pretty sure they had one in the communal kitchen at the Tower. It may have been small but it was sharp.

Donnelly moved around him making shallow cuts all over his body. Clint was already sweating from the cane and that quickly seeped into the cuts, making his body feel like it was on fire.

The knife was more intimate than the whip, it kept Donnelly close, running his hands over Clint, wrapping his arms around him to keep him still so a cut wouldn't go too deep. By the end, Clint knew what was coming. The chains stopped in the same place, pulling him tight and Clint tried to shut his brain down. Tried to not feel the hands moving over him, or hear anything Donnelly was whispering to him before the real pain came.

Clint woke, hearing the sloshing bucket again and feeling the water dripping over him.

"Can't have you dying on us because some cuts get infected."

Clint almost shook his head. This guy must have no idea what he was doing. He was leaving himself open for attack everywhere, but, to be fair, with the way Clint was feeling, he wasn't going to be making any escape attempts at the moment. But that didn't mean he couldn't demean the help.

"So it's 'us', huh? Not 'them'?" Clint rasped. It would work better if he didn't sound like this.

He got a questioning look in response.

"I'm just saying, you seem more like their janitor than anything else. They make a mess, you come and clean it up. Or is this an entry level position? Working your way up?"

Bucket guy gave him a considering look, then continued cleaning off the grime. "I volunteered to do this," he finally said.

Clint's brain was still working too slow. "To do what?"

Bucket guy held up the sponge. "This."

"I'm going with creeped out," Clint warned. "Why?"

Bucket guy chuckled. "Because you're Hawkeye. World's Greatest Marksman. Top SHIELD sniper. Scary as hell assassin. You want me to continue?"

"No," Clint moved away slightly; definitely going with creepy.

"Don't," Bucket guy sighed, loudly, "Come on, this isn't Misery. I'm not your biggest fan. I do, however, admire the skills you have. Why not take the chance to meet a legend?"

One of his captures admired him. Or was pretending to admire him. Was this a ploy to get information? Clint didn't like the conflict this conversation was causing in his mind. "Stop talking to me," he said, pulling away again.

"That probably sounded worse-"

"Stop," Clint snapped, "Don't talk to me."

There was a pause. "Alright. I can do that." Bucket guy finished cleaning him off and left without another word.

Clint tried not to enjoy his piece of chicken and orange.

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Weeks passed. More clipping were added to the wall. He didn't look at them. One was about Steve at a function for families of soldiers who were prisoners of war or missing in action. Donnelly seemed particularly pleased to show him that. What did it mean? Was the team trying to somehow let him know that they were still coming? But they would have no way of knowing Clint would be told about it and only Steve had attended. The most recent one had a picture of Iron Man taking off with an unconscious Bruce in his arms, bridal style. The paper didn't know what had happened to him during the battle.

It was so cold. His fingers couldn't grip the granola bar he had been tossed. They must have put something in his food because when he had woken up earlier he was hanging from the ceiling dressed in a sweatshirt and pants. One of the grunts was in the room with Donnelly, holding a-

Before he could fully grasp what was about to happen, a cloth was wrapped around him nose and mouth and the hose started pouring water over him.

He wasn't ready, so instinct took over, making him thrash around, trying to dislodge the rag. It was probably only a minute before water was going down his throat. After the first round, he was able to calm himself down and make it through the rest with minimal drowning. Though he was still hacking long after they left.

It was obvious they had put him in the sweats just so they would get soaked and hold in the cold of the room. He was chained back up to the pillar, hours later, when Bucket Guy came in, but this time he had towels.

Clint couldn't help it. They hadn't asked any questions during the session, whenever he tried to say anything he was hit.

"They finally promote you to Towel Boy?" he asked, unable to hide his shivers.

There was no response. Right, Clint told the guy not to talk to him.

He felt a slight tug at his soaking shirt, then heard the distinct sound of cutting fabric.

_No._ No. "No. ...the hell? Stop it." It came out more like a whine than a command.

Bucket Guy sighed, "I can't unlock those cuffs and the wet clothes need to come off. No one wants to deal with you being sick. I can send someone else in here to do this, but I can guarantee they won't be as nice about it."

Over his cold skin he could still feel the burn of Donnelly's touch. He shivered and nodded his assent. He hated it; feeling his clothes being cut away, exposing his naked skin again. Bucket Guy dried him off, everywhere; ever the professional, didn't get handsy. Left a towel around Clint's shoulders when he was finished and got up to leave.

_Damn it._ Clint hit his head against the brick of the pillar. Bad idea. "What's your name?" he asked, before he could stop himself. "Unless you prefer Bucket Guy or Towel Boy?"

There was a hesitation, then, "Patrick."

Clint blinked. First name.

Patrick paused at the door. "You're going to want to get some sleep, tomorrow's going to be tough," he cautioned, before leaving.

* * *

Misery is a Stephen King novel about a writer who has a car accident in the mountains and is rescued by a woman, who turns out to be obsessed with him. She locks him up and forces him to write a novel for her. It's pretty messed up.


	13. Never Alone

So many triggers! Be Warned! Check the end notes if you're worried. There are new ones.

* * *

Patrick wasn't lying.

He was injected with a muscle relaxant so they could move him into a reclining chair. About half way through them securing him with an obscene amount of straps, it clicked. It was a dentist's chair.

Donnelly waited until his was completely immobile before bringing out the mouth spreader. Clint tried to thrash, tried to get loose, but they weren't taking any chances, and he was wishing his reputation hadn't preceded him so well. When the spreader was in place, his head was secured between two foam blocks.

Donnelly leered down at him and slipped his thumb into Clint's gaping mouth. A slight increase in breathing was his only reaction, though he wanted to bite the man's thumb off. Donnelly leaned in, putting his weight on his knee between Clint's thighs, and whispered, "I'm getting all kinds of ideas, Hawkeye."

Somehow. Somehow Clint was going to kill Donnelly. They couldn't be this diligent all the time. He just had to be ready for them to mess up, and then he would kill him.

Donnelly stepped aside, allowing the dentist, and he looked like a dentist, if you ignored the slight blood splatter on his apron, to move in on Clint.

They pulled his teeth out. Not all of them. Two of the back molars. They didn't even pull them right away. They started drilling into them first, no prep. Clint would have taken a needle in the mouth over the burning agony that began to cut through his skull. He may have been yelling but couldn't be sure over the sound of the drill. He already hated the smell and taste of powdered teeth, and these people weren't taking the same precautions as a normal dentist; with no water and suction to wash it out, everything in his mouth was soon coated. It wasn't long before Clint was choking on his own blood and spit, forced to swallow it down, making him further nauseous. He tried to zone out and lost track of time again.

He could barely hear through the pain in his jaw. He felt hands moving him but only groaned. They hooked him back into his manacles and Donnelly left with a 'Happy two months".

Two months.

Huh. So there was a reason.

_Happy Anniversary, Clint._ At least he hadn't been raped this time.

He realized two things later, while he was throwing up into the drain; one, that he probably shouldn't be relieved that he was only tortured. And two, he should have realized that sooner than he did. But Clint was going to blame it on the pain.

His cheeks and jaw were swollen. He could barely chew the food he was given, he didn't really want to chew, it didn't seem worth it, especially since he only seemed to throw it back up. He couldn't sleep. The throbbing in his jaw was different than the cane or the whip. He couldn't seem to block it out. By the third day he was hitting his head against the pillar in the hope of knocking himself out. Everything began to feel surreal, like he was dreaming but he knew he wasn't sleeping. There was no reprieve from the empty cell. He was exhausted physically and emotionally.

At the end of the the fourth day Patrick came in with some salt water and pills. Clint was pretty sure they weren't pain pills, just something to prevent infection, but he still passed out before Patrick left.

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They weren't friends. Clint knew about Stockholm Syndrome. It just helped to have someone be nice to him now and again. Because he didn't see Patrick everyday, or even every other day. Two days after Patrick came with the pills Clint was waterboarded again. They left him naked for it and for the next couple. He could air dry just fine, so Patrick and his towels weren't needed. Neither was Patrick and his bucket because waterboarding started counting for baths. It was two, three? weeks before he saw Patrick again. He started wondering if the guards had noticed him being too friendly on camera and took him off Hawkeye duty.

More laminated news clippings were added to the wall by then. They were on the wall wrong. There was a space next to the picture of Steve and the sniper where the new one showing Tony and Natasha walking together, headline claiming they were secret lovers, should have been put. It would have fit better, now the whole thing was lopsided. Clint wasn't going to say anything; wasn't his problem if Donnelly messed up the wall. Clint barely looked at it anyway.

Besides the, now, usual torture, Donnelly had started having "fun" with him on a weekly basis. Clint didn't know what was worse, having it trigger a PTSD episode or trying to block it out and just letting it happen.

Not thinking about it was easier.

Donnelly brought the little orange handled knife back but ended up cutting Clint a little too deep on his leg. After he left, Patrick was there to sew it up. He didn't get anything to numb the area, so Clint decided talking was the best way to get his mind off the fact someone was sticking a needle into his inner thigh.

"I'm starting to think you're the mom of this place. Sponge baths, towels, sewing lessons; should I call you Patty instead?"

Patty shook his head. "Someone's got to do it."

The constant state of pain Clint was in said otherwise. "I seriously doubt that."

"They still need you alive. They're not going to let you bleed out."

The 'they' didn't escape Clint's notice. "Where would Donnelly get his jollies off then?" he asked, with dark humor.

Patty's hand stilled. "I think I've given you the wrong impression of me Clint. I'm not a lacky, I didn't answer an ad for torture aftercare. I'm a mercenary."

Clint _had_ let himself get the wrong impression. Obviously he knew who Patrick would have to be to work for people that would take an Avenger and torture him, but he had conveniently blocked that out. He was blocking a lot out.

"You've got to be new at this, at least. You're not suppose to talk to the prisoner, Patty."

"Not new to the business." Patty said, continuing to stitch. "Do I look young enough to have just started out? Never been this up close before, though."

"Pilot? Wait, no…" Clint groaned, "sniper?"

Patrick winced. "Yeah, I'm actually the one that…" He pointed his finger at him, like a gun, and made a 'pow' sound.

Well, shit. This was the guy that had shot him. Clint thought maybe he should be angry about that.

"It wasn't personal," Patrick said, finishing off the last stitch. "A job's a job."

Unfortunately, Clint did understand. When you took a job that's all it was, a paycheck. And a job involving shooting an Avenger was bound to be high paying, it probably helped that… "Oh, god," he groaned.

"What?" Patrick asked, checking the cut.

"You're a sniper."

Patrick looked confused. "Yeah?"

"You admire my skills?"

"So what?"

"This IS 'Misery'," Clint said, letting a dark chuckle out.

It took Patrick a second, then he gave a half smile and laughed.

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Donnelly was alone and didn't have anything with him. But Clint was hanging in the center of the room.

This was new. New usually didn't end well for him.

Donnelly turned to one of the cameras, twirling his index finger in a circle a few times, then turned back to Clint and waited.

Clint didn't know where the speakers were but the room filled with the sound of a phone ringing.

There was a click. "Make it quick," a voice said sharply.

Clint started. He knew that voice.

"Tony Stark?" another voice asked. It wasn't Donnelly.

"You know who I am, it's nearly impossible to to get me on the phone, so you're either an idiot or you're wasting my time. Probably both. Get to the point."

Clint was close to breaking down, it was taking everything he had not to call out to Tony. It was Tony! He was actually hearing him, most likely not live, a recording, but it was him.

"We have Hawkeye."

The was a pause. "What?" Tony asked

Clint looked at Donnelly, but his expression didn't even twitch. Were they messing with Tony? Trying to taunt him?

"We have Hawkeye, your missing Avenger, and we are willing to return him for a price."

There was another pause, no longer than the first. "No."

Clint's heart broke a little when he heard that, but he understood; no negotiations, not that it mattered, Tony would be tracking the phone call. When did this happen? How long ago?

"I don't think you understand-"

"I understand fine," Tony cut in, "I just don't care."

Clint stopped breathing.

Tony continued, "You have something else? If not, I'm hanging up."

"I haven't even told you what we want," the person sounded irritated.

"Doesn't matter, not interested."

Was Tony just trying to keep them on the line?

He was trying to hang up.

"What about the rest of your team, or SHIELD," the man asked, pointedly, "will they feel the same way?"

"They'll probably care less than me, and that's saying something."

The cell felt too small. Suffocating.

"Is this because you think we need a sniper?" Tony sounded angry, then abruptly turned flippant, "I can make a call and have another one here in half an hour, less for the right price." Angry again, "That clear enough for you? Don't call back." The line went dead and Clint heard the speakers turn off.

Donnelly didn't say anything, just stared at Clint, studying him.

_It's a test, a lie, you need to react._ Clint scoffed, "You really expect me to believe that was Tony Stark?"

Donnelly smiled, like he had won. "Tell yourself whatever you want, I saw the relief on your face at the beginning, you know it was him." Without saying anything more, he turned and left the room, leaving Clint literally hanging.

What else was there to say?

No one was coming for him.

_That was Tony._

_It couldn't be him, he wouldn't say those things._

_It was him! It was his voice, but that doesn't mean it was real. They edited some audio tracks, made it sound like that._

_Did you hear any cuts in the sound?_

_How would they even be able to get them to edit?_

_I doesn't matter, stop thinking about it!_

He had almost been here three months. If the others were looking for him… they were looking for him, they were, but they obviously couldn't find him. Tony couldn't find him. And if they hadn't found him by now, the chances that they would were decreasing. The trail was going cold, or was already gone.

Clint still didn't know what they wanted from him. Someone with training to test their torture on? Were they simply waiting for him to break to ask questions? Almost three months, any codes he knew would be changed by now, any intel would be outdated. What did they want from him?

What if the phone call was the last straw? He didn't give in to them so they went to Tony for money as a last resort, but Tony didn't want-

_It wasn't real! Stop thinking about it!_

_'They probably care less than me, and that's saying something._'

_'They're not coming for you.'_

**_You gonna cry?_ **Clint flinched. _**Like a goddamn baby. Look at you!**_

He couldn't wait anymore. He needed to get out of this place or at least get a signal out. The team was trying, he knew they were, but as much as he hated to admit it, it looked like he was on his own for this one.

He needed a plan.

* * *

Trigger Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence! More very creepy Donnelly. Being unwillingly restrained to a chair, teeth drilling and teeth pulling, choking on and throwing up blood, torture, mentions of rape, Clint's deteriorating mental state.


	14. Nailed It

Trigger Warnings at the end.

* * *

Unfortunately a few days later, Clint was shown where he would get his opportunity to escape.

Two goons came in without Donnelly. He had seen them before, the less methodical lackies Donnelly used to work him over. He could hear them murmuring to each other by the door, could feel their leering gaze sweep over his naked body. Clint struggled not to shiver. It was obvious what they wanted, what they planned to do.

Clint could work with that. They would need to get close to him, and that fitted with Clint's plan.

But Clint wasn't ready yet. The plan was formed but… he needed to give them what they wanted so they would come back again.

**_I've always known you were a little whore Clint, the way you just let Walker do whatever he wanted._**

Clint flinched. Not too submissive, they'd get suspicious. They came because they want a fight, or at least a struggle.

Clint breathed. He could-

**_Clinton._** Fingers moved through his hair.

He pulled on the chains and the men laughed. No one was touching him, they were still by the door.

No, he could do this. _Just give them what they want. Give them what they want. You need them to come back._

That meant he couldn't zone out, he needed to pay attention.

**_Whore._**

He cringed. "Shut up."

They laughed again and moved closer.

He could do this. He would.

He had to.

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His plan would only work if he knew when they were coming, what he had to get ready would be noticed eventually, so he couldn't do it until right before; the goons had to come more than once… more than twice. So more weeks passed.

Donnelly still came. Clint was still in hell. He celebrated his third month by being left hanging from the chains until his shoulders popped out. They waited a bit longer before knocking them back into place. But he could deal with it, he would be getting out soon. Clint still saw Patrick sometimes. Sometimes. Never after the lackies left, though. Did he know about them? Did he just come when he was ordered to?

Focus.

They would be coming soon. He needed to be ready.

What if he had to kill Patrick to get out?

He heard the door open. No shock, so it wasn't Donnelly.

There was a chuckle.

He moved his tongue, getting ready and stayed close to pillar, to draw them closer. The chains would be loose enough, he just had to get them closer.

_Keep your body loose, submissive. Let them think they've broken you._

One of them gripped his hair, making him turn his head to look at him. The other moved behind him.

Perfect.

Clint spit his sharpened fingernail into the man's eye.

The lackey cried out, but before he could move back, Clint threw his body forward, curving it, up and over the man, forcing him back to the pillar. Clint looped one of his arm chains around the man's neck and pulled.

Movement. The other lackey was coming in, closer, to help the other. Clint tripped him, kicked him in the face, then wrapped his legs tightly around his head, and jerked, breaking his neck. Dead.

The first one was still struggling. Clint pulled tighter.

_Kill him. Kill him! killhimkillhimkillhim!_

Clint entire body was shaking as he loosened the chains, releasing the two, now dead, men. Why was he shaking? He'd killed plenty of times before. Adrenaline. It was throwing him. Focus. He wasn't going to have much time if anyone was watching.

Clint made sure he looked like he was searching the bodies thoroughly, and he did search, but he doubted they had anything useful. Nothing that would take the chains or collar off anyway; he needed Donnelly's cuff. So Clint hid what he was actually doing from the cameras. His fingers started quickly unlacing one of the guard's shoes.

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Clint sat huddled against the pillar and, peripherally, watched as Donnelly rushed into the room, hand on the cuff, and stop, as he took in the scene.

The dead guards were sprawled out on top of each other in front of Clint, looking like they had been kicked away in frustration. Or, at least, that was how Clint hoped it looked.

Donnelly laughed as he came closer, "Find anything useful, Hawkeye?" He kicked one one the guards moving him an inch, and Clint didn't look at the shoeless foot of the other guard or the other laceless boot, hidden beneath the top one's body. "Did you think I would allow anyone in here with a weapon if I wasn't here to keep you in line?" He pressed a button and Clint flinched from the shock.

"This must be unbearably frustrating for you. Chained up, still able kill two men, with only a few feet of leeway, and then… nothing. How long have you been planning this? A month? More? It all seems a bit anticlimactic now doesn't it?"

Donnelly stepped closer; still out of reach, but that didn't matter, he was close enough.

Clint swung the shoe out from where he had been huddling over it. Donnelly didn't even register what was happening until it had wrapped around his leg and Clint pulled, tripping him to the floor. One more long pull and he was within reach.

He was distantly aware that he was snarling like a wild animal as he attacked Donnelly, pulling him close, hitting and tearing at whatever he could, keeping Donnelly's other hand away from the cuff. He needed to get the manacles off. He lost track of what he was doing. He tasted blood in his mouth. Was it his own? He knew Donnelly was fighting back. The cuff came into his view and he went for it, pressing any button that he hadn't seen used.

The pressure was gone from his wrists, but he couldn't leave yet; he had to kill Donnelly. If he let go of the man, he would use the cuff, and if he didn't end this fast that was going to be a problem. He had lost muscle weight and his endurance was shot.

_End it._

Clint grabbed Donnelly's shirt and lifted him up, bringing his own forehead against his face, hard. It was satisfying to feel the nose break and the cry of pain from his torturer; so satisfying, in fact, that he wanted to do it to his neck. He let go of the shirt, but before he could reposition himself, a body collided with him, knocking him off Donnelly. He shifted his body and rolled with it. The other man's legs hit the pillar, while Clint tucked and somersaulted around it, grabbing the man's neck and twisting. And there was that satisfying sound again.

Clint moved to get up when the pain hit.

_No!_

It didn't stop this time. Shaking, he forced himself to crawl forward, around the pillar. Donnelly was scooting backward toward the door, holding down the button on the cuff.

No, he was too close! He was going to kill Donnelly!

Clint put his right arm forward, but it collapsed beneath him. He couldn't breathe. He looked up as a foot connected with his head, and everything went black.

Anticlimactic.

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Clint woke, back in the manacles, hanging from the ceiling, as a fist hit is gut, making him cough violently. He tried, but couldn't make himself stand. They had really worked him over while he was unconscious. He glanced around, through one good eye, noting the absence of dead bodies.

Three dead. But he had still failed. Failed.

_You're never getting out of here now. The others aren't coming for you._

His eye was drawn to the newspaper clippings on the wall. They looked happy. Did they even need him?

_No. They can't find me. They'd come for me if they could._

_The combined resources of SHIELD and the Avengers couldn't find you? You're lying to yourself. They were never looking. Why would they? They already replaced you._

_"You actually think Carson cares about you?" Jacque laughed. "He cares about the money you bring in. 'The Amazing Hawkeye' draws in the crowds kid. Why? Because you don't miss… yet. Just wait, you start slipping and you'll be out on your ass begging for another chance, but it won't matter because they'll have already moved on to the next money maker… Don't believe me? What do you think happened to Trickshot? You actually think he wanted to leave? He was here eleven years before you came along and took his spot. Wonder who's going to take yours?"_

He looked at the sniper next to Steve. Stand in or replacement, it didn't matter now, Clint was never getting out of this place. Not on his own.

_They could still come._

Clint dropped his eyes from the wall. They could, but why would they?

Seeing that Clint was awake, the brute backed out through doorway, revealing Donnelly leaning against the wall.

Clint pushed back the pain and doubt he was beginning to drown in and smiled cruelly at the man's appearance; blood stained the front of his shirt and hadn't been completely washed off his face. His eyes were bruised from the broken nose and there were bruises and scratches across his face and arms. Donnelly was holding a bloody rag to his right forearm, covering… when he dabbed, Clint could see teeth marks and some missing flesh. So it had been Donnelly's blood in his mouth.

Clint may not have escaped, but at least he had given something back to the bastard; so he laughed, not caring how rough and broken his voice sounded. "What happened, Donnelly? Get in a fight with an unarmed, helpless man?"

Donnelly's eyes were murderous but a wide grin spread across his face, giving him a maniacal look. "I didn't think it was possible, but we underestimated you, Hawkeye. You ripped out your own fingernails. I've got to admit that I'm impressed. You obviously want out of this room more than I realized." He sounded sharp and close to losing it. "I can accommodate you."

The brute came into the room, a baseball bat in hand.

"We'll just need to take the appropriate precautions." Donnelly waved the man forward, as he directed, "Right leg."

_Shit._

Clint couldn't even make himself move as the bat swung down against his shin, breaking the bone; but he did scream.

* * *

Trigger Warnings: Graphic violence, biting, blood, rape, breaking bones, self harm, deteriorating mental state.


	15. Remind Me

Trigger Warnings at end.

I couldn't find an end for this chapter so it just kept going.

* * *

Coulson closed his eyes.

The pictures alone were horrific, but then add to that, reading the detailed, impersonal notes from the doctors about what was so very personal to Barton and therefore personal to Phil.

A year. Over a year of abuse. And, yes, it would be termed 'torture' in reports, but Phil wouldn't believe that torture alone could do this to Clint in a year. He had always felt that torture was more impersonal than abuse. They could be almost the same, but the difference was in the definition of abuse; to use wrongly, be it information or people themselves; and if anything, Clint had been used very wrongly.

The report said there were signs of past sexual encounters that were rough and most likely non consensual and… signs of recent sexual activity. Phil hadn't seen Clint yet, so he could only imagine where his head was now. He hated wondering if they were having to force Clint in the end or if they had broken him enough that he thought he was willing.

Phil felt sick. And then angry. He wouldn't try and brush this aside. He could be mild mannered, even appear uncaring if necessary, but not with this. He had found Clint. He had found other agents, but almost from beginning Clint was different, Phil took more of an interest in him.

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"I believe we can do that," Phil said, sitting next to Barton's bed in medical, pretending he didn't know the man had already slipped the cuffs.

"I'm serious," Barton snapped.

"So am I, Mr. Barton. You're not the first person we've brought in that wanted to disappear, to erase their existence from the world. I can't promise anything for while you were headlining at the circus, though. People will have taken pictures, newspapers in small towns…"

"I don't care about the circus, I was always known as the Amazing Hawkeye to outsiders, they never got my real name, I'm talking about everything before that. Everything. Birth and up."

Phil took care of it personally. Went to Waverly, flashed a discrete government badge around; he was skilled at being unremarkable, so people wouldn't think twice about him coming to the public records, the local elementary school, hospital and anywhere else something might have Clinton Francis Barton written down and either copied then altered the information or simply appropriated them for Barton's 'eye's only' SHIELD file. He had already dug into the archer's past, so nothing caught him off guard, at least not until he was reaching the end and was working through the foster records and then the brothers' missing person's reports. They had run while they were staying with Sean and Carol Walker. Sean's name had a notation by it which led him to a murder file. Five years ago Sean was shot in the head by a young man whom the Walker's used to foster. The 19 year old claimed that Walker had been sexually abusing him for years. Phil thought back to the fear in Barton's eyes when he had tranqued him on the roof and his hesitancy to strip down or let anyone near him in medical during his initial exam. Phil hoped he was reading things wrong, that Barton was simply distrustful, it would still fit with his years of being a mercenary. But when did anything go the simple way?

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"Where is Clint now?" Phil asked.

"Hulk's room," Bruce answered.

"Alone?"

"No," Tony said, "Natasha's with him."

"There was some trouble when he woke up and we had to sedate him again," Bruce elaborated.

"JARVIS?" Tony asked.

**Yes, Sir?**

"Is Clint awake?"

**He is, Sir.**

"Maybe it would be good to get you in there, Coulson," Bruce tried.

**But**, JARVIS interjected, **perhaps you should speak with Mr. Odinson, before any decisions are made, as Ms. Romanoff has left that floor.**

"What?!" Tony yelled. "Thor!"

Over the speakers they could hear sounds from another floor and then a noticeable sigh. "Anthony, calm yourself."

"Where the hell did Romanoff go, Thor?" Tony demanded, "She said she'd stay with Clint."

"She was with Clint when he woke, as she said."

"Where-?"

"She is finishing preparing one of the cells. It will be much safer to visit him if we do not need to enter the room."

"Safer?" Coulson asked, "Is there something we should know about?"

"Coulson," they could actually hear Thor's smile, "It is good that you are here. Natasha merely said to be cautious when speaking to Clint. He was… is, quite ruthless in what he says."

The room paused.

"Clint?" Bruce asked.

Clint would snark, tease and mouth off but he had always been more of a 'actions speak louder than words' kind of person in the end, which was funny when they thought about him being with Tony Stark, whose words and actions were both loud and obnoxious, and most of the time you had to look at his intent; or stick around long enough to be let in passed the worst of it.

Coulson sighed and pulled out his phone, "I'm going to go ahead and get Steve moved here while we wait to move Clint."

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Clint shifted his wrists in the cuffs behind his back and heard them click. "Magnetic locks?" He gave a slight twitch. "Always effective. Did Stark come up with these?"

"SHIELD standard now," Natasha replied, moving from behind Clint to his side.

Clint's face went blank. "Of course they are."

Natasha frowned. She hated not understanding. It was right there, she could tell, and she was missing it.

Thor firmly but gently grabbed the cuffs, moving Clint forward and out of Hulk's room.

"So where are we going, SHIELD?" Clint asked, "Did I wear out my welcome already?"

"Hulk's room is ineffective for keeping you." Thor said, "We are moving you to a holding cell."

Clint rolled the sudden tension out of his shoulders. "The Tower has holding cells now?"

Natasha kept her eyes on Clint. "Tony had them built for the sniper that shot you."

Clint stopped dead and turned to her, his eyes intense and… amused? "How'd that work out for you?"

"We never found him."

"You wouldn't. He was with me most of the time," Clint revealed, and started walking again.

Thor looked startled as he moved with Clint, then gritted his teeth and glanced to Natasha.

She stayed by Clint's side, keeping her demeanor calm. "And now? Do you know where he is?"

"It doesn't matter."

"We would disagree," Thor growled.

Clint turned his head as they reached the elevator and gave Thor a dark half smile that didn't reach his eyes, before stepping in as the doors opened.

Thor shook his head but kept himself behind Clint. "JARVIS." Thor commanded when the doors closed, and the elevator began moving down.

Clint, who was shifting from one foot to the other, froze. "JARVIS?" saying his name like he had forgotten the AI had even existed.

Thor and Natasha shared a glance.

Clint opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, looking down, before finally muttering, "E5."

Silence.

"E5?" Clint asked the ceiling.

Again, JARVIS didn't reply.

"JARVIS?" Natasha asked.

**I am unsure of Agent Barton's intent. It is possible that the information was misfiled or deleted during a system check.**

Natasha turned to Clint, "What's E5?"

"What does it matter, Romanoff?" Clint snapped, "You heard the computer, it's deleted."

It did matter, though. Everything about Clint's reaction screamed it.

Clint quickly changed the subject, trying to dig in where he could. "Should I be worried about you back there Thor? Every time you're around, you end up behind me. Jane not enough for you anymore. I mean, I'm not surprised, she's only human. I feel like I should be prepared. You have a rape whistle I can borrow, Romanoff? But I guess the Red Room never gave you one."

The doors opened, but Thor held Clint back. "I will take him the remainder of the way alone, Natasha."

He saw a slight falter to Clint's stance.

Natasha looked between Thor and Clint, "Are you sure, Thor?"

"I am sure. The Quinjet was arriving when you returned to me; I'm sure Steve would be glad to see you."

"Roger's survived? No one said anything so I was kind of holding out hope that he was dead," Clint snarked.

Natasha nodded to Thor and stepped back, allowing him to move Clint out and down the hallway. The floor was more simple than the others in the Tower, darker, looking more like SHIELD. They passed a clear wall that looked into a cell and had barely stopped at it's door when it slid open.

"Maybe I should have insisted on the whistle." Clint said, as they stepped into the cell.

"I would not defile you in such a way," Thor vowed, his voice tight, "And it pains me to know that others have done so."

"Defiled?" Clint laughed. The cuffs came off and he spun away from Thor. "We can go down that road. Let's talk about your brother, Loki, and what he did while he was here."

At Loki's name, Thor's face fell.

"Oh, he didn't get all touchy with me, Thor, give him some credit. But you should want to know about everything else. You apologized enough times to me, for him sticking his hands into my mind, that we both know who's really to blame for everything that happened. As the older brother, you're responsible for Loki. You swore that the Earth was under your protection. Could you have screwed up any worse? Hundreds of people died, why? Because you were a dick of a brother? He talked about you, you know, before you showed up, called you a fool; wait, no, he called you a sentimental oaf who could easily be fooled into doing what he wanted. And man was he right. You just walked right into his plans."

Thor didn't move. Didn't turn to leave or even clench his fists; he just stared at Clint in somber contemplation. "We have opened ourselves enough to you that you may use that knowledge to spear us with your words but you do not have Loki's way with them, Clint, and you have told me as much in the past. It is why you are not often sent in, to spy as Natasha does. At first glance you words are sharp and tear at what they are intended, but upon closer inspection you reveal more of yourself than you realize," Thor looked at Clint knowingly, and Clint took a step back. "For when you speak you give words to the sadness in your heart; a sadness that your fear has created. I would not begin to know of the fear you have experienced this past year, but I know it was great, for alongside that sadness is an anger that burns with a heat equal to that of Muspelheim. And so I fear for you Clint Barton, for I am acquainted with such anger and I know it is slowly destroying you," Thor took a step closer, "as it has Loki."

Clint seemed ready to attack, but his face showed uncertainty.

"But you are not him" Thor went on, "so I ask that you accept our help. If we could-"

"Your help?" Clint snapped, "Where was your help when I actually needed it, Thor? What were you doing when I was cut open, torn apart? Where were you then?! I'll tell you. Having team dinners, going to movies with Jane, you saw a chick flick or something, right?"

Thor gaped, "How do you-"

"You all seemed very distracted with trying to find me."

"If we had known you were alive-"

"'If'? You weren't sure so you didn't bother looking?"

Thor's frown deepened, then replied, slowly, "You believed that we knew you lived, but did not come for you?"

"Loki was right, you are a moron."

"We thought to dead, Clint. That you perished in the river."

Clint's mouth snapped shut.

"The ruse was clever, no one suspected that you still lived."

"So he was actually telling the truth." Clint mused, "No one was ever looking for me."

"Did you not hear me, Clint? We had no reason to believe that you lived. If we had known, no one would have stopped us from coming for you," Thor insisted.

Clint shook his head and turned away; ignoring Thor until he finally left.

88888888

Natasha stopped outside Steve's room. "JARVIS are you sure you don't remember what Clint was talking about?"

**I do not 'remember' anything, Ms Romanoff, I perform a comprehensive search of archived files and security footage.**

Natasha frowned. "That's not a no, JARVIS."

There was a pause, then,** I do not remember what Agent Barton meant.**

Natasha's lips thinned but she left it alone and entered the room.

88888888

Clint laid on his back across the couch on the common floor, his feet sticking up in the air, looking at the ceiling expectantly.

**B2.**

"Damn it, JARVIS! You sunk my aircraft carrier! I told you it's not fair for you to use your higher computing functions!"

**I am not using them Mr. Barton. This is merely process of eliminations.**

"You're processing bullshit, J. You'd be going down the rows for 'process of elimination'."

**I believe rows go across, Mr, Barton, columns go down.**

"Oh, there is no doubt that Tony created you, you smartass. … F6."

**A miss.**

"Goddamnit!"

**If I may, Sir? You are concentrating your attacks on the center of the grid.**

"I'm not-"

A hologram of the grid sprang to life, showing Clint all of his previous turns. And they were all near the center.

"What can I say? I'm a marksman."

**That implies that you actually hit your target… Sir.**

"I'm getting trash talked by a computer. It is so on, J!"

Clint rolled off the couch, heading for the kitchen. "How are Tony and Bruce doing? The conference got over, like, an hour ago didn't it?"

**Sixty nine minutes ago, Mr. Barton. Sir and Dr. Banner were conversing with other scientists for fifty minutes afterward and will be returning in approximately 41 minutes, barring unforeseen traffic.**

"Thanks, J." Clint said, opening the fridge, then stopped and closed it. "You're not telling Tony that I'm checking up on him are you?"

**Only since he became aware of it seven hours ago and told me to inform him each time you made an inquiry. He seems to be finding it quite amusing.**

Clint's mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding me, J? I thought you were on my side!"

**I am always on Sir's side.**

Clint frowned. "Of course you are, J. I only meant… I know Tony comes first for you."

**And for you Mr. Barton? What number is Sir on your list?**

Clint's eyes widened, "Uh… What?"

**I believe this to be an appropriate time to determine what your intentions are toward Sir.**

Clint laughed nervously, "Woah, J, are you giving me the Shovel Talk?" He was met with silence which he took as a yes. "Did you do this to Pepper?"

**Ms. Potts was employed to look after Sir and had proved her capability throughout the years, before I had had the capability to do anything about it.**

Clint's eyes widened.

**Therefore there was no need to do so. Then as their relationship progressed, Sir made sure that her safety was prioritized in my programming.**

"Shit, you actually have a list."

**It changes depending on the circumstances, but, yes, I do.**

Clint wondered where had Tony put him on it. Had he even changed it?

**And, no, I am unable to give any further details about that protocol.**

"Good to know." Clint sighed. "Intentions, huh? I've never actually had intentions for any relationship before. They all usually ended before it would get to that point."

**And now?**

"And now… and now I don't know, J. I'm still kind of surprised it's happening. No one else knows yet, you know? Not even Nat. Not that I'm ashamed of Tony or anything. I mean, I'm not, I don't know about Tony. I-"

**If Sir is ashamed of someone, he does not make a point to sleep with them more than once, much less bring them to his actual bedroom and not the room for overnight guests.**

Clint looked down with a small appreciative smile, "Oh." He wasn't sure what else to say. JARVIS gave the appearance of being every bit like the conservative and proper British butler he was created after but it was at times like this, when he was able to talk with JARVIS alone, away from the others, that Clint began to wonder how much Tony had tweaked the AI or if he had just seen a side of the man that had been reserved for Tony alone.

"Tony's one of a kind… I don't even know why… look you're making it really difficult to tell you why I may have doubts about this relationship without sounding like I'm questioning Tony's character."

**That does not stop most others from doing so.**

Yeah, Clint was aware. "Well I'm not most others. And while I usually take that as a good thing, Tony could do a lot better. I didn't get my GED until I joined SHIELD. At that point my reading level was probably around eighth grade. Tony earned a masters when he was sixteen. Do you know what I was doing when I was sixteen? Barely surviving in a circus. I didn't know that though; I thought I had a pretty sweet deal there, and it was, compared to all the shit before it. Then life got harder and I decided that killing people was easier than dying myself. What did Tony do when he found out his hands may not be as clean as he thought? He built Iron Man and dedicated himself to destroying every piece of his weaponry in enemy hands and refused to build anymore, not caring that it could ruin or end his life."

Sometimes it worried him how little Tony seemed to care about himself. People called Tony egotistical, and he was, to a point. Everything Tony boasted about was deserving of it. Clint could easily see a much younger Tony acting the same way, being loud, demanding attention, but never getting it. Clint felt bad for being thankful that Tony had problems growing up, but that meant Tony would very rarely bring up his childhood and even more rarely ask Clint about his.

"Tony's amazing. I don't want to hurt him, he's had enough of that."

**Indeed Mr Barton. It is good that you do not wish him harm, because if you did intentionally harm Sir, do to my programming, I would have no choice but to view you as a hostile force and take the appropriate measures to ensure Sir's safety.**

Clint knew JARVIS wasn't joking and he was glad. He remembered the blue haze. The complete certainty that he was doing the right thing, helping Loki. How he had tried so hard to kill Nat. "Good, J. If I ever try to hurt Tony I expect you to treat me as the enemy I am and protect Tony… he comes before me."

**Duly noted.**

Clint laughed, "I would feel a bit better if you didn't agree so easily."

**If it came to it, I will protect Sir from you. That does not mean that I would find the task easy, Mr. Barton.**

"J, for someone thats ready to stick his virtual foot as far up my ass as you are, I think we've moved passed 'Mr. Barton', don't you?"

**I believe so… Clint.**

"There you go, J."

**G10.**

"Damnit, JARVIS!"

88888888

Yelling. Running. And then Steve's veins turned to ice. Finally, he thought, I'm waking up. This new life was just a dream.

But waking up was so painful. The agony continued on and on, his eyes never closed, but the freezing continued, cell by cell, returning him to the ice he would forever be encased in.

He couldn't move. The block of ice held him fast. People moved passed him and he tried to follow them with his eyes. Their faces were blurred but familiar. Was this where the dream had come from? Had he seen these people staring at him and come up with fantastic lives for them and just inserted himself?

Thor suddenly fell to the ground. Tony took an arrow to the chest. Steve tried to move, to yell at the distorted figure outside the ice as it shot an arrow through Natasha's neck. Another arrow hit the ice and the figure began chipping away at it. Up close Steve could see Clint's eyes, glowing blue, his yells muffled through the ice. Then he smiled and backed away, leaving Steve frozen and alone.

Steve gasped awake, bolting upright and shaking.

Bruce was instantly at his side. "It's alright Steve, you're safe. You're not cold."

It was freezing!

"You've got a heating blanket, wool socks, hot water bottles, and I've got some lemon honey tea here when you're ready."

Steve was still breathing heavily, but he halted his panic as his brain recognized the warmth around him. He layed back into the bed and pulled the covers around him; he was still shivering but they slowly began to subside.

He smiled sincerely at Bruce, "Thank you." He knew it was all Bruce's doing, Steve didn't talk to anyone at SHIELD about his dreams or how he very rarely felt warm. But the team knew and they always made sure that whenever he woke in medical, he had, at least, a heating blanket

He felt embarrassed at first but soon realized that everyone on the team had a wake up procedure. Bruce was told and/or shown what the Hulk had gotten up to, assured that people were fine, Natasha wanted people to keep their distance but to be talking, that way she would know immediately know who was in the room, Tony made a big deal while people casually fretted over him, Clint… Clint.

"Clint!" Steve looked around the room to Bruce and then Natasha and Phil. "Where is he?"

"What?"

"It was him wasn't it? He attacked us?"

Phil was giving him a questioning look, "Yes, it was Clint, but how did you know?"

Steve shook his head, thinking, "I honestly wasn't sure, but I thought I saw Tony get hit with an arrow and then while I was out, I guess my brain worked it through."

"We really don't give your super mind enough credit, Steve," Natasha praised, her face anything but happy.

Fourteen months they thought Clint was dead, they had mourned him and tried to move on but now a whole other kind of grief seized Steve. They had failed him. Images of Bucky falling from train flashed, unbidden, through his mind.

**If I may.** JARVIS's voice announced through the room.** Sir was on his way to visit Agent Barton when Mr. Odinson stopped him, they are on their way here now.**

"Did something happen?" Natasha began to move to the door.

**I believe Mr. Odinson wishes to discuss something with everyone.**

There was a quiet buzzing and Phil quickly answered his cell phone, "Yes?... Now?" He looked at the others as he continued to listen. "Send me what you can," he finished, lowering the phone.

They looked at him intently, knowing what he was about to say as he huffed in frustration. "There's an impending attack on the city, you've been called to Assemble."

* * *

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of underage rape


	16. For Those Who Wait

Trigger warnings at the end of the chapter.

The chapter title sounds sinister but it is actually an inspiring song For Those Who Wait by Fireflight, which, if you listen to the words in the context of this chapter, goes back to having a sinister meaning. Oh well. It fits.

* * *

He blocked the next week out... mostly. He remembered waking up, bound, with his wrists in front and his elbows from behind; his left leg chained to a wall, broken leg set, but not completely secure, so he would need to be careful. The realization that he was blind, that led to panic.

But Donnelly was there, gripping his hair, "There there, dirty bird, no need to panic."

His eyes had been taped shut, and would remain that way until Clint begged to go back to his room.

Clint lasted a week. Maybe. He wasn't sure. By the end he had a fever and had lost track of most of what was happening.

He could remember hearing distant banging and closer murmurings from people; but nothing felt real, how could it when he couldn't see? He knew Donnelly was telling the truth and he was out of his cell simply because the ground felt different. People would pass by and hit him, touch him, throw things at him...food? Clint never felt alone. Sometimes he knew someone was close by and watching him but never coming close.

They did more, but Clint didn't remember it now, chose not to remember passed the hands touching him, fingers gripping his hair, forcing him onto his knees, pain in his broken leg.

When Donnelly would come by, and it was more often than when he was in his cell, he would call Clint 'dirty bird' and finally Clint understood; the psycho Annie had called the author in 'Misery' a 'dirty bird'. Did that mean Patrick was reporting their conversations or simply that Donnelly wanted Clint to know that they were being watched?

Was Patrick alright? Maybe he really wasn't suppose to be talking to Clint.

When the fever began to take hold he heard Patrick's voice along with another that was becoming familiar.

...really not going to tell me?" Patrick asked.

"You've missed out, being off base."

Clint tried to concentrate. He could feel the heat coming off his body

"I doubt it, nothing happens… here." One of them stopped, it must have been Patrick because the other voice drew closer.

"You were always going on about that shot he took in Rabat." Fingers gripped his hair and Clint was pulled to his knees. "Now you can take a shot at him," the man laughed.

There was a pause, then Patrick laughed, it was short, but Clint tried not to curl in on himself. He started fading in and out. But he knew the Patrick never came any closer. He came back long enough to hear Patrick say "you've been on base too long" and then they walked away.

Everything else was a haze.

He was shivering. He kept getting hotter, but he still felt so cold. He could hear Donnelly talking but couldn't understand him.

Clint's head was pulled back and he felt the mouth spreader being forced in.

_'I'm getting all kinds of ideas, Hawkeye.'_

Clint bucked and thrashed around yelling, refusing to take the device into his mouth.

"No more, no more!"

The spreader was pulled away, "What was that Hawkeye?" Donnelly asked, "Why don't you try that again."

Clint was so tired. Tired of being touched and hit. Tired of feeling eyes watching him but not doing anything. He just wanted to be alone.

"Please," Clint almost bit his tongue, but continued, "Donnelly, let me go back to my room."

Clint kept telling himself that he wasn't broken, that he was just letting Donnelly believe he was giving up. But he wasn't as sure anymore.

"Was that really so hard?" Donnelly asked, as Clint faded out again.

88888888

Clint probably woke up a dozen times but didn't remember much, just glimpses of Patrick, before the heat finally began to fade away.

He was back in his cell, laying on a cot. Still naked, but there was a heavy blanket over him. He felt a twinge in his elbow and looked down in time to see Patrick pull out an IV.

"Patty?" Clint croaked, before he fully came to his senses.

Patrick gave a small nod but didn't look at him. "You've been delirious with a fever for about three days now. You," his lips gave a slight upturn, "should be fine."

Clint resisted smiling back and tried to sit up, but didn't make it far.

"That's not going to happen yet," Patrick said, moving some trays and tubings. "You've been living off an IV for three days and, from what I understand, barely ate anything for a week before that. You're going to have build your strength back up."

Patrick still wasn't looking at Clint.

"What the hell do you want, Patrick."

Patrick turned to him. "What?"

'What do you want? What are you suppose to be doing here with me?" _Why didn't you use me like your buddy had been doing?_

"Making sure the fever didn't kill you, for one," Patrick replied. "They still want you alive. But they've got to be idiots to think you'd ever give anything up."

Clint closed his eyes, shaking his head. "No more games, Patrick. I get enough of those from Donnelly, just tell me what you want. What are you still doing here? You already told me you're not normally this hands on for a job. You were hired on to shoot me, so why are you still here?"

When there was no immediate answer, Clint opened his eyes.

Patrick was frowning, looking like he was deciding something, then slowly nodded. "Alright, you want to truth? I am actually still here to keep you alive, because these people don't know what the hell they're doing. You're the best goddamn shot in the world and they're treating you like some lower level SHIELD agent."

"If that were true I'd have gotten out of here by now."

"I'm not kidding around, Clint. They don't even realize what you could do for them, what an asset you'd be."

"I'd never-"

"And why not?" Patrick asked, angrily, "Where's your team?" He moved to the wall and pulled off one of the clippings and brought it over to Clint. "Because, to me, it looks like they're still living their lives like you were never there. Where's SHIELD? I thought they didn't abandon their own?"

Clint flinched. _Their own._ Did he still qualify as that? Everything had gotten better when Coulson came back, not like it had use to be, but Clint thought he had proven himself enough. Did they just write him off because they still couldn't trust him?

Clint shook his head.

"No," Patrick pressed, "You wanted to know, Clint. Why the hell do you need them if they don't need you, you're better than that."

"Stop acting like you know me!" Clint yelled. "If you hadn't shot me none of this would have happened!"

Clint could see Patrick visibly restrain himself before he looked away. "That's true. And you'd still be blissfully unaware of how little you actually meant to them."

Clint snarled and tried to get up again, making slow progress.

Patrick huffed, gathering up odds and ends he had brought in.

_To help you._

"Don't expect me to apologise for taking away your ignorance, man. Just," Patrick sighed, pausing at the door, "don't die for them when they don't even give a shit about you." And he was gone.

Clint's breath was coming fast now, and he yelled as he fell back down on the cot, his vision beginning to fade again, as he pulled at his hair.

They're coming. Tony's coming. '_I understand fine. I just don't care.'_ Steve doesn't leave men behind. _He went to a dinner for families of soldiers who were MIA or POW, the article never mentioned him talking about a missing Avenger, he talked about Bucky._

**_You are so pathetic._**

He struggled to control his breathing. They're coming. They're coming.

_You know they're not. They can't find you. You're going to die here._

_'Don't die for them.'_

He was going to die here.

88888888

Clint was chained back to the pillar and life in hell continued like it always had. Caning, whipping, waterboarding, cattle prods, a little orange knife. It kind of felt like Donnelly wasn't trying as hard, didn't say much to Clint, didn't whisper into his ear. Clint wasn't going to complain.

More laminated clipping were taped to the wall. Clint still didn't look at them… not really.

After a week he started talking to Patrick again. He didn't dwell on it. Patrick was there, so Clint talked to him, just back and forth snark. Patty didn't bring up what he had said before, not that Clint could forget it.

Patrick had said that he stayed for Clint.

It didn't matter. It was a ploy for all he knew, so they didn't talk about it.

The thing that was most worrying, though, was that Donnelly had stopped touching Clint, stopped raping him. Clint didn't want it, didn't miss it. But Donnelly had just stopped, out of the blue. What was he doing? Was he just done with it? Had he gotten bored with Clint? That didn't seem like Donnelly, the sicko really liked getting off on Clint's pain. So it seemed too good to be true.

And it was.

Donnelly was just saving it up for Clint's four month mark.

88888888

_"You little shit!" The belt came down again, the buckle tearing into his back, and he cried out. Each hit was reopening older cuts. Blood dripped down his sides._

_"I'm sorry dad! Please!" he wailed._

_But the belt kept raining down._

_Clint had messed up so bad this time; even Barney wasn't trying to help him. But he always tried to be good. Stay out of dad's way, especially when he was drinking, don't get noticed. Be invisible. He deserved this, if he had been bad enough that dad had come looking for him._

_"You going to try and be a good boy now?"_

_"Yes, yes!" he sobbed._

_"Good," he heard, before he felt hands touching him, manipulating him._

_"No, Dad," He pulled free but lost his balance, his back hitting a wall, causing the pain to flare up again._

"Clint, wake up!"

His head pulsed as eyes sluggishly opened to the dark cell, only one of the holes was open letting in a dim light. Was it dawn or dusk? Patrick came into focus, kneeling next to him.

"It's just me."

As some awareness came back, he began to feel the sponge dripping water on his back.

"You with me now?" Patrick asked.

Hazily, he gave a nod.

"You were pretty out of it there."

Memories of the past day started resurfacing and he began dry heaving.

_'Mr. Walker must have had fun with you. Were you a good boy for him? Did your brother have to drag you away, you little whore?'_

_Donnelly took a drag from a cigarette, then put it out on Clint's arm. As Clint screamed, Donnelly smile and lit up another one._

Clint was shaking. How did they know? SHIELD had erased all records of his childhood in Waverly. If anyone tried to look him up, they would only be able to find pictures of him at Carson's. Clint Barton didn't exist before the circus. That was the deal he made with them. No childhood. Nothing to come back and get him. Even Barney was dead. No one should know about his dad and the beatings. Or Walker at the foster home who was a little too affectionate. Clint was pretty sure Coulson himself had gone to the midwest town to get every hard copy there was.

But then they had injected him with something that fogged up his mind, unlocked him from the chains and Donnelly came in with a belt and started calling him son, but mainly 'little shit' because when he was a kid sometimes he forgot his name was Clint and not 'you little shit'. And then his dad was there in Donnelly's place, telling him how worthless he was, and then… using him, calling him a "good boy". His dad had never touched him like that, but that didn't seem to matter because there he was, with hands all over Clint, and it tore him apart even more.

_How did they know? How did they know?_

_SHIELD told them,_ was the obvious answer. Not just anyone could get into the hard files, especially not his.

Why not his? What was so special about him? Clint was told the files were protected, why couldn't they have lied to him? _Words, they were only words._

He wasn't giving up. Not over some twisted mind games. The sponge moved down his side and a sob escaped his lips.

He could do this. So, they were effective mind games; he could still get past them. He just needed to hold out until they came. _Who?_ The team. Tony and Nat. They were soft and careful with him. Maybe not Nat, but she was still careful. They wouldn't hurt him. Nat hurt him when they sparred. Did she look down on him because he couldn't beat her? They wouldn't leave him here. Tony had tried to break up with him that one time… and then that other time. He hadn't meant it though, he was just scared. Was Tony happy he was gone? Relieved he wasn't there to tie him down? Had Bruce finally...

_**Little shit!**_

They wouldn't leave him here. The papers were lies. The phone call was a lie. They were lying to him. _They, who? Who had lied?_ The team. They lied, or they would be here. No, no, Donnelly was lying. Donnelly was lying.

_The knife moved down Clint's back, Donnelly's hand followed, digging into the cuts._

_He's going to rip you apart._

He just needed... something. It was so hard to think, with his mind so muddled.

The sponge moved across his shoulders and for the first time, he leaned into Patrick's touch; it was always so careful.

He felt Patrick hesitate, then cautiously slip an arm over him.

"You can beat this, Clint," he said, softly, "Donnelly's a dick. Don't let him break you."

No one was going to break Clint. He hissed when the water hit a particularly deep gash and he heard Patrick whisper a 'sorry'.

Clint leaned in further, letting most of his weight rest on Patrick's knees.

A hand moved through his hair and he breathed out another sob.

"Alright," Patrick said, shifting Clint a bit, "I'm going to help you out."

Help? Wasn't he already helping? Clint nodded anyway.

The other hand with the sponge was still rubbing him; it moved lower, around to his chest and lower, and suddenly the sponge was gone and Patrick wasn't being professional about it anymore.

No. He was careful. Patrick was safe. He was suppose to be safe.

"No." Clint tried to pull away, but Patrick still had his arm around him and after his session with Donnelly, Clint was barely conscious. "Pat, no," he groaned.

Pat's mouth moved near to his ear, whispering, "I'm just going to take care of you, alright?"

Clint shook his head and his vision swam. How could he be so stupid? He was being held captive and tortured. Safe? He had let Patrick get too close. He tried to crawl away, but Patrick held him in place, his hands moving gently over his skin, and Clint began to feel himself respond to the touch.

"You need this."

"Please," Clint whimpered, trying to hold back more sobs.

"It's alright," Patrick murmured, soothingly, "it's alright."

But he didn't stop.

88888888

It became a thing after that. Besides Donnelly and whatever tortures he came up with for Clint, there was Patrick. There was no gloating about Clint falling for some twisted plan. Patrick didn't suddenly show a darker side, something he had just been waiting for the right moment to reveal; it was still Patty, and he acted like he really thought he was helping Clint. But Clint had no distance, couldn't see anything clearly anymore, and Patrick was still the only one that took care of him. Part of him wished that his safe place with Patrick was ruined, that he could simply close himself off from the bucket guy, but he couldn't. Not when he was the only one who touched Clint with any ounce of kindness. He hated that he seemed to be so desperate for any measure of care; that the ill treatment and torture were starting to take their toll. The feeling of betrayal was still there, but being around Patrick was still the safest place he had.

And he didn't fully understand that, until that, too, was taken away.

* * *

Trigger Warnings: Rape, torture, underage rape, child abuse, belt whipping, forced drug use, burning with cigarettes,


	17. Who Will Save You Now?

Trigger Warnings at the end.

The chapter title is 'Who Will Save You Now' by Les Friction, and is basically the theme song for 'Lies', so if you are going to listen to any of the chapter songs, this would be the one.

* * *

- "Pat," Clint moaned, feeling the hand beginning to move down. "No."

The hand stopped. "Are you sure?" Patrick sounded so sincere. "If you really want me to leave, I'll go…"

Go? What if he did? What if Patrick left and didn't come back, leaving him alone? Alone. Isn't that why he had begged to come back here? To be alone?

_But you're not alone. You have Donnelly to keep you company._

No. This was better than Donnelly.

The fingers moved idly across Clint's stomach. "But I really think you need this right now."

Clint took a deep breath, slumping down and nodded, suppressing a shudder when the hand continued down between his legs.

Patrick wanted to help him... and Clint was letting him. Was it rape if Clint wasn't trying to stop him? He'd say no, move away, and sometimes Patrick would listen, but most of the time he just kept going, telling Clint that he wanted to help him. And he was helping, wasn't he? In a twisted way. He wasn't… he didn't… Donnelly hurt Clint. Donnelly raped him. Patrick… Clint could make him stop, be more insistent, tell him to back off. And Clint needed this… didn't he? The soft touch. The break from the torture.

Clint gasped and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on Patrick's shoulder, ignoring his shaking hands.

Yes. He needed this.

**88888888**

When Patrick came in Clint knew right away that something was wrong. To start, Donnelly hadn't even come by yet. Patrick was breaking a pattern that had been consistent for… five months? Had it really been that long?

Patrick was clearly agitated, moving his hands through his hair, glancing at the cameras as he quickly came over to Clint.

A thought hit Clint fast, _He's not suppose to be here._

Clint sat up. 'What's going on, Patty?"

"Listen, Clint, you need to give them something."

Clint blinked.

Patrick continued, "Something, Clint. Anything. It doesn't even have to be important. What color are the doors?"

"What doors?"

"In the Tower, at SHIELD, it doesn't matter, just give them something."

"Why?" Clint asked, thrown by Patrick's behavior. "Why should I tell them anything?"

Patrick hesitated. "The Avengers aren't coming for you."

Clint looked away from him.

"Clint," Patrick, growled, "You know this! You know they're not coming. I know you didn't believe Donnelly, but believe me. You heard the phone call, they tried to ransom you for money or information, Stark didn't bite. They haven't even come looking for you. I'll bring whatever you need to convince you. They're not coming. And you're not cooperating." Patrick let out a short laugh, "And that's admirable, amazing even, with everything they've done to you, but… they're running out of reasons to keep you alive."

Clint didn't react.

"Damn it, Clint! Don't give up!"

"I'm not giving up! Spilling my guts would be giving up."

Patrick put his face in his hands, his fingers curled, looking ready to tear his skin off for a moment, then he sighed, dropping his shoulders. "Don't die for them, Clint," he looked up from his hands, "please."

A shock hit Clint and he flinched as the door opened and Donnelly stepped in, "What do we have here? Did Hawkeye stub his toe or something?"

Patrick stood up straight, "No, but he agreed to talk."

"Really?" Donnelly leaned down. "That right, birdy? You ready to sing?"

Patrick was subtly nodding at him, trying to get him to agree.

Clint shook his head.

Donnelly smiled, "Good." He turned to Patrick. "The prisoner isn't going to need your particular services anymore, if you really want to remain on we've got another job for you."

Patrick tried to hide his surprise, "What?"

"You heard me 'Patty'," Donnelly shifted. "Unless there's a problem?"

Patrick blinked, his eyes shifting slightly to the camera high on the wall, then back to Donnelly. "No, no problem."

"Good. Get out." Donnelly demanded.

Patrick's eyes swept over Clint before he reluctantly turned away and left.

"Five months, Hawkeye," Donnelly said.

Clint knew. He always knew.

Donnelly moved around and picked up Clint's water cup, setting it down about halfway between Clint and the door. The he held out a laminated clipping, and Clint didn't know how he didn't see it before, it was a full sheet of paper.

"This is going to be the last one I bring." He didn't hold it up or gloat; he simply dropped it next to the cup and left.

Clint reached out but the chains brought him up short. Well this was-

Suddenly the chains loosened, giving him another three feet.

Clint hesitated. He had never been given this much leeway before. He reached forward again and picked up the clipping, turning it over and felt his world fall apart.

It was a tabloid magazine cover. In the main picture, Tony had his arms wrapped around Bruce, and they were kissing.

**88888888**

"Should I be jealous?" Clint asked, after fifteen minutes of Tony going on about Bruce's contributions to a project.

Tony, oblivious to the slight tension in Clint's voice, continued to work through the 3D plans surrounding him, "What, of Brucie-bear? Well his mannerisms are adorable and for all you know we've been making out like teenagers in his lab."

Clint grit his teeth; he was going to put Nair in Tony's shampoo tonight.

"... but, alas, it would never work out, he's in love with a Dr. Betty Ross."

"Has anyone ever told you that you suck at reassuring people?"

Tony pinched his fingers, picking out what looked like a speck of dust, from the plans and flicked it in a virtual trash can. "That fact may have been brought up before. But seriously, he's pining for her like a tree."

"That doesn't mean anything, Bruce could go gay for you."

"'Go. Gay,'" Tony said, slowly. "Shouldn't that offend both of us?"

"We're bi."

"So wouldn't it be 'go bi' for me?"

"Tony," Clint cried, in exasperation.

Tony stopped and turned to Clint, his brow furrowed, "Wait. _Are_ you jealous of Bruce?"

Clint refrained from throwing his arms in the air, and simply asked, "Should I be?"

Tony blinked a few times and waved the open file away. "I… need to catch up here… jealous of what?"

"I don't know," Clint said, looking off to the side. "Just… nevermind." He made to leave but Tony quickly stepped in front of him.

"Woah, no, not nevermind. I need you to explain because I seem to be missing something."

"You're not, this is just me overreacting."

"To Bruce and me hanging out?"

Clint was feeling like an idiot now and shrugged again.

"Bruce and I are friends, I'd like to think we could get some matching BFF bracelets in the future, but," he stressed, when it looked like Clint was going to try and leave again, "we're only friends. You guys are friends too, aren't you?"

Clint shrugged, "We don't really have much in common." Which was true, but they still managed to have entertaining conversations.

Tony nodded, beginning to understand, "And he and I do."

"You two would make more sense than we do and you're always so happy to be around him and you don't have to dumb things down for him."

"Hey," Tony said, sharply, "you're not dumb."

"I didn't say-"

"You think I have a crush on Bruce."

"Are you going to say you don't?"

Tony paused, working his jaw a little, then sighed, "Fair enough, I do. But," he continued, quickly, "I also have an unhealthy crush on Summer Glau's terminator character, and I know that ones not going to happen. Besides, with Bruce, it's a… 'guy crush' doesn't work here, 'bro crush?' Yeah, that works, it's a 'bro crush', kind of like you and…" Tony faltered, "anyone you might have a crush on. Crushes are normal, everyone has them." He became more serious, stepping closer to Clint. "Bruce and I talk science, that's all. I just want him to feel safe here, to feel at home."

Clint shook his head, "I'm being an insecure jerk, aren't I?"

Tony smiled, grabbing a handful of Clint shirt and pulling him even closer. "I'll give you this one, because, at least you didn't try and break up with me."

Clint smiled, "That was pretty insecure of you."

Tony leaned in and teasingly kissed Clint's lips, then pulled back, his eyes dancing, "You know, I've heard the best way to get over a crush is to invite them to have a threesome with you." Tony wiggled his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

"He's not on the threesome list." And yeah, they were drunk when they came up with that list. Most of it was fine but it was obvious they had been drunk since it included Baroness from G.I. Joe, who Clint still swore was created in the likeness of Black Widow, an Octopus and, well, JARVIS; who was actually Clint's idea. But as soon as he mentioned the A.I. Tony had started talking about modifying a suit, and then Clint wasn't sure, because that was about the time he had passed out.

"He doesn't need to be," Tony reasoned, "because the only way we could get him to even consider it would be if we already had Dr. Ross in on it; so it would be a foursome."

"Fivesome if you include the Hulk," Clint amended.

Tony smiled, "You kinky bastard."

"That wasn't a yes!"

**88888888**

Clint couldn't breath. Tony was kissing Bruce. Tony had an arm around him, holding him close, fingers in Bruce's hair. It was hard and passionate. Apparently, both of the scientists had moved on. Clint felt nauseous, unable to look away from the photo. The headline read, 'Stark Love', then lower down, 'Stark says Size Does Matter!'

The light holes closed with a snap, leaving Clint in total darkness.

But he could still feel the picture in his hands and it was all he could see in the black empty air.

**88888888**

Clint was fine. He was fine. He hadn't seen Donnelly for weeks, maybe. Or anyone else. Or anything for that matter, because the light holes had remained shut, never opening. Someone still came in, to give him food and water, and occasionally a soapy water bucket, probably whenever Clint was sleeping since he had never caught them. But that meant they could still see him in the dark; night vision on the cameras. He had to feel around for his water and food, and he wasn't always successful. He always found them, but there were a few times when he knocked over his cup, losing his water supply for a few days. The swirls of light that had begun to texture the darkness didn't help.

.

.

Clint was fine. He started exercising more. He was very limited in what he could do before and still was, but it was better than nothing, which was what it was for the first month. He was gradually able to start very simple exercises, when he wasn't in too much pain; sit ups, push ups, squats; then add handstands, really anything to work out his arms… and to keep his mind from dwelling on where he was, and now, on the continuing darkness.

.

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Weeks. He was pretty sure it had been weeks. But there was no light, no way to mark the passage of time, and, damn it, Donnelly's doing this on purpose. Five months of knowing almost every second as it passed, of visits from Donnelly to remind Clint how long he had been here, that no one was coming. And now, just, nothing.

.

.

Nothing.

No one was coming for him; or even searching for him. Why had he thought they would? How was he irreplaceable? Always, always, always too close. Why did he do this? He knew better than to let anyone in, but he always did. Because he was weak.

_'You have heart.'_

No, no, no no. No more. He couldn't do this anymore. Clint scratched at his chest. That was the problem. Loki had told him. He had too much heart. Too much. He let everyone in. He needed to get it out. He couldn't let them in anymore.

Tony's lips were pressed hard against Bruce's, and Clint yelled, his nails tearing the skin covering his heart.

.

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He was alone. He wanted to be alone. He asked to be alone. This was better. Better than Donnelly. Better than pain. Nothing was better. Was that funny? He was laughing more. That was a good sign, right? That he wasn't giving up?

.

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How long had it been now?

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The patterns of light swirled more when he looked at the floor than when he looked at the ceiling.

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There was a crack in the floor by the drain. He never noticed it before. How had he not seen it? It was right there. It was there now, maybe it wasn't there before. It couldn't just come into being though. Could they do that? How much control did they have over his cell?

.

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The crack was there. Even though he had never seen it before. He dug at it for a while. He fingertips might have been bleeding.

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No one was touching him. No one came. And that was good. He didn't… this was preferable. This was what he wanted; what he had begged for.

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He asked for this.

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**88888888**

The light from the arc reactor illuminated the room.

"I can still cover it up if it's keeping you from sleeping," Tony offered.

"No," Clint said, smiling at the way the light moved across the walls. "I like it, it's… nice."

Tony smirked. "You were going to say 'comforting' weren't you?"

"No, I wasn't," Clint denied.

"Is it becoming your security blanket?" Tony teased.

"If anything, the blue glow is creepy. It makes you under lit."

"Under lit? Were you talking to Steve about art again?"

"It's definitely creepy."

"You love it. It's your night light."

"It's in your chest, Tony, that makes it your night light."

"You love being wrapped in the warm glow of my heart."

Clint laughed. "Did you really just say that?"

"That isn't a denial."

Clint rolled onto his stomach. "Come here," he said, grabbing Tony's arm and pulling him closer, "I want to use the 'warm glow of your heart' to make shadow puppets."

Tony laughed. "That is so disrespectful. That's like eating cereal out of a Ming Vase."

"You're so full of yourself."

"I have every right to be full of myself, I'm amazing."

He had Clint there.

"Remember when you jumped off that collapsing building and the Hulk caught you but, because of the angle, he then had to go through the crumbling building?"

"You were freaking out over the comms. You-"

Tony cut him off, "I was actually worried about Bruce."

Clint started, "What?"

"It was twenty stories, what if Bruce got hurt? You saw the picture, we're in love. Don't get me wrong, Clint, you were fun while it lasted, but you knew I was just waiting for Bruce to be ready; to get over Betty."

Clint's chest tightened. "Tony..."

"Do you really want me to go over all of the reasons why I wouldn't want you?" Tony asked.

"No." _God no. Please don't._

"For one, I've got enough of my own problems to deal with without having to take on yours'. I know Bruce has that whole Hulk thing and Ross is out to get him, but come on, Bruce is the nicest guy you'd ever meet. You? You shot your own brother."

"How did you-"

"You're a killer Clint. Everyone knows that. What exactly do we have in common, again? But Bruce," Tony smiled fondly, "We can spend weeks talking about one theory, we don't have to resort to lame movies or spend hours watching you practice with your bow. Do you know how boring that is? Point, shoot. Point, shoot. And it's not like you can do anything else. Oooo, you can aim, what an amazing superpower."

"Shut up!" Clint covered his ears and tried to stand, but Tony had grabbed his wrists and pulled him back down harshly.

"Romanoff didn't even come for you, she must have finally realized you two were even. You have no idea how relieved she is not to owe you anymore."

Clint threw himself back, but was stopped again by the chains. He blinked down at them, then back at Tony, but he was gone; Clint was kneeling in front of the the pillar. Had he been sleeping?

No. They had been in the cell together. In the cell. How had Clint thought that was normal? The first part had actually happened before, hadn't it? While they were talking in bed one night?

Wait, he could see the pillar. He looked up and saw that one of the holes was open, letting in some starlight.

He shook his head and looked around.

It was only the cell.

He gasped and faltered backwards when his eyes met Donnelly's.

The man was only a few feet away, studying Clint intently. After a few seconds he smiled. "Shadow puppets, huh?"

He leaned forward and Clint moved back closer to the pillar, feeling too confused to do anything.

"I think you're losing your mind." Donnelly whispered. He hadn't stopped smiling yet. "That's going to be fun." He stood up and laughed quietly as he left the room.

A few seconds later the light hole snapped close.

* * *

Trigger Warnings: rape/non con, sensory deprivation, hallucinations


	18. Perfect Opportunity

There is some consensual intimacy in this chapter.

* * *

"You're serious?" Tony asked. "There's a giant robotic bird headed toward New York City?"

"About the size of a 747. It's flying this way across Long Island Sound," Coulson informed them. "JARVIS will you pull up a map of that area around Huntington Bay?"

The TV on Steve's wall turned on, showing a topographic map. "You need to stop it before it gets here; preferably around the Caumsett State Park, minimizing people in the crossfire." His phone buzzed again and Coulson scrolled through information. "Explosives have had no effect on it, but scans are suggesting that it might be susceptible to lightning Thor."

By the door, Thor nodded.

"We can finish getting briefed on the way," Steve said, moving his feet off the bed, "Let's-"

"Lay back down," Bruce said, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You're sitting this one out."

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by Coulson. "Bruce is right Steve, you were transfered here, not released, you're not cleared for a mission." When it still looked like Steve was going to protest, Phil continued, "Stay on the comms, help me coordinate."

"Coordinate what?" Tony asked. "You just said explosives don't work on it. That limits me almost completely out. Natasha's out. Bruce-"

"Can be dropped on it if it came down to it," Bruce said, "wouldn't be the first time."

Tony didn't budge. "I'm just saying, not everyone needs to go."

"Tony?" Steve prompted, trying to read his closed off expression.

Before Tony could answer, Thor stepped forward. "I believe Anthony to be correct, I'm sure myself and the Hulk will be able to destroy this mechanical bird. Besides," Thor said, looking at Tony, "at the moment they are needed here more."

Tony looked gratefully to Thor for a second before turning back to the other, "See, Thor agrees."

Coulson frowned, "Fine, but have your suit on standby, if Thor and Hulk can't stop it, you and Natasha need to be ready to go."

"Second sting, got it," Tony readily agreed.

Coulson's phone buzzed again, "The quinjet's on final approach to the Tower, Thor, Bruce," he said, nodding to them, "Let's go."

"Natasha can you get my comm?" Steve asked, as the threesome left the room.

"No need," Tony cut in, "JARVIS can broadcast it over the speakers. J, get the suit prepped and let me know if they need my help."

**Of course, Sir.**

Tony nodded and moved to the door.

"Wait," Steve said, "where are you going, Tony?"

"To Clint," Natasha answered. She nodded to him, "Go on, Stark, but," she reminded, "Stay out of the cell and… be careful."

Thor's words came to his mind. _'He is... quite ruthless in what he says.'_

"Will do."

**88888888**

Tony stood in the elevator for almost ten minutes trying to figure out what to do, how to act. Clint had tried to kill him, so they obviously couldn't continue where they left off, but why not? He could forgive Clint.

_Can Clint forgive you?_

The answer seemed to be 'no' right now, but, Tony could work on that. This could be fixed. Tony could fix anything. **Anything mechanical.** Just because he was shit with relationships didn't mean anything, he could still do this.

But after only five minutes of sitting on the ground across from Clint, trying to talk to him, watching him in his cell, silent and unmoving, Tony was already beginning to doubt.

Clint wouldn't say a word, didn't twitch a facial muscle when Tony had come into view, hadn't moved from his spot against the far wall. He just continued to stare at Tony with dead hate filled eyes.

No.

Tony tilted his head, looking at the blue grey gaze. Clint wasn't looking at Tony.

He was looking at the reactor.

**88888888**

Clint sighed and pulled away, "I'm going to go back to my place and crash, Tony, Nat beat my ass into the mat today."

"Hey no problem, you can sleep here," Tony said, pulling him back onto the bed.

"I mean it, I'm beat, you really want me to fall asleep on you?"

"Sure," Tony insisted.

"Tony-"

"No sex, I won't even grope you, promise…" Tony looked him in the eyes, "doesn't mean you can't stay."

Clint stopped. "Spend the night?"

"Just an idea," Tony tried, "you've got some clothes here anyway."

"Only sleeping?"

Tony huffed, "As much as the media insists, Clint, I'm not a sex fiend. If you don't want to-"

"Sounds great," Clint interrupted quickly. He hesitated a few seconds before climbing off the bed. His shirt was already off so he slipped out of his pants, and he could hear Tony doing the same.

Why was he feeling so nervous? They'd already had sex plenty of times. _But you've never actually stayed afterwards. You won't be leaving and he won't be kicking you out._ Not that Tony had ever kicked Clint out after sex but no one else knew yet, so... now he was actually inviting him to stay, to sleep with him.

Clint took a breath and turned back around. Tony was sitting on the bed, in his usual tank top, legs under the covers; but he looked anxious, his hands were fiddling with the blanket.

Clint was about to ask him if he was alright, when Tony took a deep breath and took off his shirt, bathing the dimly lit room in blue. Clint tried to school his surprise. He knew that Tony was protective of the arc reactor, he wouldn't let anyone get close to it, let alone touch it, and after what Stane had done it wasn't a surprise. Outside the tower, when he wasn't in the Iron Man armor, he always kept it covered so that it couldn't be seen through his clothes, and it had taken a while before he had begun letting the light shine through around the team. So Clint didn't make a big deal about Tony keeping his shirt on during sex, and did his best to keep his hands from wandering to it. He was pretty sure the only person Tony had been with since Afghanistan was Pepper so he counted himself privileged to be let that close. And now Tony was sitting in bed, shirtless, and waiting for Clint to react.

"You seem to assuming a lot here, Tony," Clint began, "What if I sleep on the left side of the bed?"

Tony smiled, his features relaxing. "Get over it."

They didn't touch that night; not beyond some finger twining or the random foot graze; Tony was tense enough with just having Clint in the bed.

In the middle of the night Tony was startled when he woke and found Clint already awake, staring at the reactor.

"You know, Clint," Tony said, trying to laugh it off, "When I invite you to spend the night, the least you can do is not be creepy."

Not that Clint hadn't already displayed some creepy habits. Hiding in vents and watching people, popping out to scare them, sitting on the refrigerator instead of at the table for breakfast and only for breakfast, keeping a gun strapped to the back of the toilet, that was a surprise find. The weirdest one, Tony thought, was Clint's quirk, and it was categorized as a quirk now, about keeping his eyes open during sex, and through all stages of foreplay. It was a little unnerving at first, and threw Tony off his game for a while, but he had begun to enjoy being the sole focus Clint's intense gaze.

"I was actually nervous about seeing it up close," Clint said, still staring. "The color…it looked like the same blue as..."

"As the tesseract." Shit. "Shit, Clint, I'm sorry, I can cover it back up."

"No don't." Clint said, hurriedly, "I was nervous but now… it doesn't look anything like the cube… or Loki's staff." He smiled, "It's yours. You made it. I know it's safe."

A week later they had once again moved their making out to Tony's bed; Clint rolled on top of Tony but then was quickly moved to the bottom. Clint gave Tony a questioning look as the man straddled him; who topped usually depended on the day, but once one of them went for a position the other would normally go with it.

Tony seemed nervous. "Lights." Instead of dimming, all of the lights turned off. There was a breath of silence, then Clint felt Tony move and suddenly the light of the reactor filled the room.

Now Clint understood, Tony was exposing a vulnerability, so he needed to have as much control as he could tonight.

Clint brought his hands up, but not to the reactor, he felt like that would be the wrong move right now. Instead he slowly traced his fingers up Tony's thighs, then around to his back and up his sides, taking his time, giving Tony enough time to stop him.

Clint began to sit up, holding Tony in place, bringing his face closer the glowing chest piece. He saw Tony swallow. Clint brought his hands to Tony's chest, still letting his fingers ghost over the skin. His lips closed the distance to the reactor, brushing across the surface as he flicked his thumbs over Tony's nipples.

Tony gasped and Clint smiled up at him, doing it again.

Tony hands came up to cup Clint's cheeks, moving him away from the reactor and their lips met. Later, even though it wasn't spoken, Clint could feel Tony mouthing a 'thank you' into his neck.

**88888888**

It was different now. Clint's eyes didn't feel safe anymore.

Tony had tried a simple 'hey' to begin with, then started babbling about Clint being alive and then, _wince_, how cool the holding cell was, remodeling the Tower; _god, there's no one here to shut me up. Shut up, Tony. Shut. Up._

Clint was the easiest one on the team for him to get along with. Now, there was nothing there, nothing but tense, suffocating silence.

"You're really just going to sit there and stare, aren't you?"

Clint eyes shifted up and met Tony's.

Tony tried not to flinch. How had Natasha stood it? How could she stay in that room with him if Clint was looking at her like this? _She didn't. She probably left as soon as she could._

And Clint had actually talked to her, but that could have only made it worse. Right now Tony could only guess what Clint would say to him. But to hear Clint actually say it?

No. Tony was a coward. Why wasn't he running away to hide in his lab?

_Because it's too late for you get away. If you had just stayed away, maybe. But you've already seen his eyes again, and the last time you saw them they tortured your dreams for the next year. You can never run fast enough or go far enough to get away from your guilt. You can't even-_

**Sir?**

Tony looked away, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, JARVIS?"

**Thor is in trouble.**

Not Mr. Odinson. Thor.

Tony bolted for the elevator.

"Suit up?"

**Back to Mr. Roger's room, Sir.**

"What's happening?" Tony asked, as the elevator moved.

**Thor was able to neutralize the robot, but he took a serious blow and is now coughing up blood.**

"What?" Tony asked, shocked. "The thing was really that strong?"

**I say serious blow because of the result, not the strength behind it. Thor should not be reacting this way.**

The doors opened and Tony ran down the hall and into Steve's room.

"Did the doctors at SHIELD tell anyone else besides Thor why he needed to stay in medical?" Natasha asked.

"I didn't look at the report." Coulson said, his voice tense, "I was told he discharged himself."

"Thor," Steve called out, "did they actually take the bullet out?"

"Are you kidding?" Tony blurted.

Thor's voice sounded around them, strained and in obvious pain."They said the bullet broke apart, was this not good news, that it was gone?"

Tony's jaw dropped, mirroring the shocked expressions of the other. "He's got uru shrapnel in his chest," Tony breathed. "He must have healed around the pieces and that blow from the bird dislodged them."

"We're taking him to SHIELD medical," Coulson announced, "the Tower doesn't have anything to deal with this."

"And SHIELD does?" Bruce asked. "How are they going to get it out?"

"I don't know, but right now they're better equipped than we are."

No one said anything for a moment, then Steve nodded, "Keep us informed."

"We will," Coulson agreed, then the comm shut off.

Tony dropped into a chair, feeling numb, when something occurred to him, "Uru wouldn't break apart."

Steve and Natasha turned to him.

"I've done enough scans of Mjolnir to know that if they could actually reshape the metal then it wouldn't break apart… unless it was meant to."

"This was on purpose?" Steve asked in disbelief.

Tony thought about Clint in the cell. The hate in his eyes. It may have been just luck that they were alive, but the reactor was fixable, Thor could heal, Steve's body could metabolize just about any compound eventually and nothing that they knew of could kill the Hulk. It may have been Clint's mission to kill them, but it was clear that he also wanted them to suffer.

88888888

Bruce sat in the waiting room… waiting. He breathed out heavily, stood, and quickly left the room. He couldn't just sit here, he needed to move around. Coulson had just left to debrief Fury about what was happening and Thor was being prepped for surgery. How, Bruce still wasn't sure. SHIELD actually had a sedative that would work on Thor? For some reason that wasn't comforting. He shouldn't be alone. Thor needed someone with him, to keep him safe.

Bruce stopped. _Safe?_ Where had that- He could feel the Hulk stirring in the back of his mind. If Thor was around, at least once during or after a battle, Hulk would give him a punch that usually sent the demigod flying. That it was possibly a show of affection made Bruce smile.

Bruce turned down a hallway and saw two medics pushing a gurney quickly down the hall, looking like it was ready for transport. He was began to look away when he noticed that the unconscious patient was Thor.

Alarmed, he ran after them, "Hey!"

They didn't slow down but Bruce caught up with them at the next turn, "What's going on? What happened?"

They didn't even look at him, "That's confidential-"

"All Avengers have full disclosure when it comes to their teammates health."

Both sets of eye snapped to him, showing recognition.

"Tell me what is going on."

"Dr. Hemming is still in surgery on the Helicarrier, we're transferring Thor there now."

"Why wasn't I informed? Does Agent Coulson know?"

"We just found out ourselves, this is an emergency transfer."

Emergency. "Alright let's go."

The head medic shook his head. "Not you."

"He needs a teammate with him."

"He'll need a different one, Banner, you know we can't take you to the Helicarrier." He saw the other medic talking quietly into a radio.

"I'm the only one here." Bruce said, stopping the gurney.

"Hey, calm down. He's just going to have to go without." They tried pushing Thor passed him, "I'm sure he'll be safer without the Hulk there to smash the quinjet."

_What?_ "Excuse me?" Bruce asked, his voice deathly calm.

The medic raised his voice, "Get out of the way Banner, we're trying to save his life."

"No, you need to get Agent Coulson here now, you're not taking him anywhere."

The other medic raised his hands, palms out, his voice also raised, "Just calm down, Banner, Thor's you're teammate, you don't want to hurt him."

"What are you talking about? I wouldn't hurt him," Bruce bit out, "You, however, are really-" He felt a cluster of needles pierce his back and he dropped to his knees. The world swirled around him. The medics were moving away fast, then an agent stepped in his vision. He caught words here and there "... no problem… monster… help Thor..." before he lost consciousness.

88888888

Phil was grateful that Fury had kept the meeting brief, he felt so thrown off balance; it was hard to focus on anything but getting back and checking on Thor.

Then the elevator door opened.

There was Bruce, unconscious, head dropped forward, hands cuffed behind his back, between two agents who were holding him by his upper arms.

Coulson had his gun drawn before they could blink. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

One of the agents was so surprised he almost let go of Bruce. The other straightened. "Agent Coulson, sir, there was a situation with Banner, but we handled it, we were just about to take him to holding."

Coulson clenched his jaw but he kept his voice calm. "Holding? Really? You were taking an Avenger to holding? And in a non restricted elevator." Someone was getting transferred. He kept his gun up. "Despite what you seem to think, _Dr._ Banner has more control over himself than most of SHIELD." Coulson said, his voice hard, "Bring him out of the elevator, carefully set him down and step away, now."

The agents did as they were ordered, then moved away from the unconscious doctor as Coulson came forward checking his pulse.

"We only tranqued him, Sir."

"Coulson?" Sitwell asked, coming up behind him, "What going on?"

"That's what I'm wondering." Coulson looked at the Agents expectantly. "Care to explain, what caused Dr. Banner to get to a state where you were afraid the Hulk would emerge?"

"Um, well," Any confidence they had at the beginning of the encounter was quickly crumbling. "We weren't here for the beginning of the confrontation, but were called in when Banner-," Coulson gave him a hard look and the man backtracked, "when Dr. Banner started getting out of control."

"How so?"

"Sir?"

"How was Dr. Banner 'out of control'?"

"He was refusing to let a medic team take care of Thor, Sir. When we arrived they were doing their best to peaceably calm him, but he was only getting more agitated."

"Probably because everyone was telling him to calm down," Sitwell snorted.

"What medic team? Thor was being prepped for surgery," Coulson said, sharply.

"No, sir. The medics said Dr. Hemming was held up on the Helicarrier, Thor is being transported there as we speak."

Coulson's blood ran cold, which seeped into his voice, "Did you check the orders for the transfer before you let them leave with an Avenger, alone?"

He saw one of the Agents swallow, "Sir?"

"That was an unauthorized transfer, I never signed off on anything, therefore Dr. Banner, as his teammate, needed to go with him."

"But the Hulk isn't authorized to be on the Helicarrier, Sir."

That was right. Bruce wasn't allowed on there after that first and last time.

This didn't feel right.

"Coulson."

He turned to Sitwell, noting his blood drained face.

Sitwell shook himself, "Command was just informed, Sir, Dr. Hemming is five minutes out."

Coulson felt his gut wrench as his mind raced.

_Who else would have come with Thor?_

No one. Tony and Natasha would never leave Clint right now. Steve was still under watch at the Tower. That was why Bruce had come. But he wouldn't be able to go with Thor to the Helicarrier. It was the perfect opportunity to...

"My god…" Coulson whispered.

Someone had infiltrated SHIELD and taken Thor.

* * *

So...that just happened. :)


	19. Still Here

About this chapter… I am sorry. I am so sorry.

Trigger Warnings at the end.

Chapter title is Still Here by Digital Daggers

* * *

- - Clint rubbed his hand over his bare wrists again, still getting use to the feeling. Not long after Donnelly left, the manacles had opened and the chain retracted into the pillar. He could move around the room freely now.

He had wanted the restraints off for so long, but now it didn't seem to matter. He hadn't even bothered to move further away from the pillar. It was probably an entire day before he made himself walk the perimeter of the room, but then he went back to the pillar and fell asleep.

When he woke up he tried to destroy the cameras, but he couldn't find them. They were gone, or were they being covered so he thought they were gone? Was he looking in the right spot? He couldn't see. He hated the darkness, making his eyesight worthless.

He was worthless now.

**88888888**

Clint's broken leg was healed. When had that happened? It had been weeks. It would take weeks to heal, if it had been a clean break. It made sense. It had been weeks, hadn't it? More than a week? More than a month? When Donnelly had come in, had that been the month mark? Did Donnelly actually come in? He didn't do anything, though; just laughed and left.

Clint couldn't tell. It was hard to understand anything in the darkness.

He tried pretending to sleep, to attack the guard when they came in with water and food. But when the door opened, a blinding light filled the room.

He covered his eyes, pressing into them hard, because it hurt. _God, it hurts!_ His eyes were burning.

Whoever it was didn't just fill up his water and leave, a foot slammed into his gut knocking him around. Clint couldn't protect himself, he had to cover his eyes, simply closing them wasn't enough to keep out the searing light. One more kick and the man left. Clint almost cried in relief when the door closed.

Leaving him in the darkness he hated.

**88888888**

Clint was starting to hear things. People talking. They were only whispers, things that creeped into his dreams. He couldn't make out what was being said, but he recognized the voices; it was the Avengers.

Was this like that thing with the memory of Tony? Was it only in his head?

"I just don't care," Tony said, dismissively.

Clint spun around. That was louder.

The whispering continued.

Why couldn't he tell if it was real?

**88888888**

The door opened and the light hit Clint hard; he had been looking in that direction. He cried out and almost dropped to the ground as he covered his eyes.

He could hear people moving into the cell. How many?

Hands. Touching him, grabbing him from all directions. His skin screamed at him as he flinched and jerked away, he could feel himself starting to shake. It was too much, too much of everything after being with nothing for, how long? He kicked out but met only air, his head rocked to the side from a blow, then the hands left and the collar turned on. Clint cried out again, unable to move his hands from his eyes to do anything.

There was a pause, then a hand gripped his hair tightly. Clint fought against it and was released, only to be shocked again. The pattern was repeated again and again.

In his mind, a voice that sounded like Natasha spoke up. I_t's like the cattle prod. If you had just stopped being stubborn, it would have been over faster._

_I can't stop fighting. I can't. I can't. I can't._

_Why? What's the point of fighting now? We're not coming for you._

Clint let out a sobbed breath when the hand grabbed his hair again, but didn't fight back. There was another pause, then he was jerked down to his knees.

_It will be over faster if you don't fight._ This voice was small, young.

He head was pressed against the ground.

No. No more.

_Be still, don't fight, Mr. Walker doesn't like it when you fight back._

_'you're losing your mind,'_ Donnelly had whispered.

Clint flinched when he heard laughter, then froze when he recognized the voice. It was Tony. Tony was laughing. He sounded happy, relieved. Bruce joined in, then Natasha.

No. This wasn't real. They weren't here.

Clint tensed, ready to move, but was shocked again.

The laughter stopped and Bruce asked, "You really think that's a good idea?"

Don't move. Don't move.

The hands were back and pain. Pain that Clint blocked out so he wouldn't have to think about what was happening, what was being done to him.

The laughter started again, Steve and Thor joining in. It just went on and on, the voices turning ugly, no longer sounding like the team.

Clint was shoved over and shocked again.

"I have wasted enough time with you," Thor said.

This didn't happen. It was happening now, but it hadn't happened before. This wasn't real. It was happening, so it was real, but it wasn't. They had moved on with their lives so why would they come here and rape him? They wouldn't bother. They had already forgotten him. It wasn't them. Did he want it to be them? Because then, at least they would be here.

"Do you think he'd want to see you like this?" Steve asked.

_Who?_

Steve continued, "He's looking after Bruce."

Tony.

Clint curled into a ball.

No, he wouldn't.

**88888888**

The laughter didn't die down for a while after the cell was dark again, and even then the voices didn't stop. The phone call to Tony, to Stark, played. This time Clint could hear Natasha in the background yelling 'Leave him". It was repeated, along with things from the others.

Natasha, "I work better alone", "I don't need you".

Rogers, "I would never willing leave a man behind", dismissively, "Only you".

Banner, "I really don't care".

Thor, "I would let Mjolnir crush your skull, worthless cur".

More Stark, "He thought he was so special", "We're looking for a sniper, not a damn mastermind".

For days on end the voices continued. He was now covering his ears to block out the sound. He should have been happy to hear their voices, but he could only cry out for them to stop, to leave him alone. He couldn't sleep. Everytime he began to doze, the laughter would start up again. And now he hated the sound.

The visits continued. Never often or long enough that Clint was able to adapt to the light. Sometimes he was brought to his knees only to be beaten before they left. He fought the hands on instinct each time, taking a few shocks before he reminded himself what to do.

_Don't move. Don't fight. It will be over soon._

Was that what his life was reduced to now? The mantra his ten year old self had created out of fear and shame? He could still feel Mr. Walker's rough fingers wiping away his tears.

Clint worked the fight out of his system.

_Just take it. Be good and they'll leave._

_Be good._ He laughed at that. It was true wasn't it? He always tried to be good, to do as he was told, to follow orders, to prove his worth, so he wouldn't be left behind or forgotten.

Useless. He would never be good enough. Maybe he was meant to be forgotten.

The door opened. Clint covered his eyes. His hair was grabbed and yanked. He went to his knees, his forehead was pressed against the ground. Pain. Nausea. Shame. The men left and the door closed. Why fight? It was easier this way.

**88888888**

.

.

It felt like weeks between visits. Was it weeks? How long had he been alone in the darkness? How much longer would he be?

.

.

**88888888**

He started seeing the team. Not in memories, but actually in the cell, in the blackness. Moving around, talking, as the repeated voices echoed around the room. When they weren't talking to him they ignored him completely, like they weren't the ones in _his_ cell. He didn't asked them to come here.

It wasn't intentional, but he began talking back to them. Soon the words changed, they were going off script, saying horrible things to him.

Sometimes he remembered that they weren't really there, but that wasn't any better; because then they weren't there. They hadn't come. They left him to die. Didn't care enough to look. Replaced him within the month of his capture.

He never realized that the speakers had turned off.

**88888888**

It didn't matter if he closed his eyes, they were always there.

He glanced over at the corner where Stark and Banner were making out. Why did they have to do that in front of him?

"Get a room."

They continued like they hadn't heard him.

Right. They were in a room. Clint's room. Apparently that didn't matter to them. Why would it? Were they smiling? Why wouldn't they be smiling? Making out was fun. But they were making out in his room. That was a problem. He wanted to wipe that smug self satisfied smile off Stark's face. He couldn't do anything to Banner, though. Maybe taking Stark away would be enough. Clint wondered, again, how he could pull the reactor out of Stark's chest. It would still be glowing after he had rotted away. He would die without a heart.

Hmm, the Wizard of Oz was really creepy.

Clint got to his feet. Stark looked over to him, "You don't have to watch, you know, but I guess I should have pegged you for a watcher, spending hours looking at people through a scope."

Light spilled in from the doorway and Clint flinched away from it, hands covering his eyes. He heard Tony talking, "He thought he was so special."

"Shut up, Stark," Clint snarled.

The door closed leaving him in the darkness. He felt a hand grip his hair tight. He tried to look around, but no one was there, just blackness. It didn't matter. His hair was pulled sharply and he automatically dropped to his knees.

Why? He was trying. He wasn't fighting back. Why did this continue?

He looked over at Rogers, he was standing resolutely in his Captain America uniform, hands on his hips, chin lifted, like he was ready to take on the world.

"Help me," Clint whispered.

Rogers didn't move, only firmed his stance.

"Rogers, help me," Clint called, as his head was pushed against the ground, "please."

His lips didn't move, but he heard Rogers' voice, strong and commanding, "Every soldier is important. I would never willingly leave a man behind… only you."

"Leave him alone, Barton," Natasha said, leaning against the wall. "He's being patriotic. If he stops, who is the country going to look to… Stark?"

"I heard that," Stark called from the corner.

"Nat, please."

"It's 'Romanoff', Barton. You're the one who started the nicknames, I went along with it because it got me what I wanted." She smirked. "I could always play you so well."

Anger broke through when he felt the now too familiar pain, and her voice echoed through the room, "Leave him!"

"No better," he ground out, "than me."

She laughed, and it was her beautiful laugh, the one that could melt any man's heart. "Of course I'm better than you Barton, in every way. You chose this life, I didn't; technically, I don't know any better. But you, you chose to kill, and you are good at it, aren't you; proud of it even, using an arrow, leaving a nice calling card in each of your victims, like a serial killer."

She was right next to him, he could smell the perfume she wore on missions when she needed to seduce a mark. "Good boy," she cooed, kissing his cheek.

"Good boy," echoed around the room.

He could hear Stark and Banner getting louder in the corner, the moaning and panting was obscene. "Bruce," Stark whispered.

"Shut up, Stark!" Clint snarled.

"We're looking for a sniper, not a damn mastermind!"

"Shut up!" Clint tried to cover his ears but his hands were held tightly behind him.

"I can have another one here in half an hour."

"Shut up! Shut up!"

Stark's laughter filled the room.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Stark! I'm going to kill you!"

The pain stopped abruptly and Stark's laughter faded.

There was no sound in the room except his heavy panting. He closed his eyes and looked away when the door opened again. It closed silently, and Clint was alone.

All alone.

* * *

Trigger Warnings: Rape, mentions of underage rape, hallucinations, sensory deprivation, psychological torture.

There are one or two more Clint flashback chapters left. Next will be a present time, yea!


	20. Sit Down And Figure It Out Already

Ugh, my brain! There is so much talking in this one, but it really can't be helped.

I just looked at the total word count, WAHOO! When this is finished it will actually be book length, and I've got to say, that does wonders for my self-esteem, since I have been worried about actually being about to write a novel, so YEA Confidence!

* * *

+"The quinjet's tracker was disabled." Coulson said, standing close to the elevator, looking out at the team, feeling the tension in the air. "It was found on an abandoned air strip in Pennsylvania. Witnesses are saying that a jet landed just before it and then took off five minutes later headed Northwest, but it could have easily changed it's course once it disappeared in the clouds."

Tony stood by the bar, staring down at an untouched glass of amber liquid. Bruce was on the couch, head in his hands, still working off the tranquilizers he'd been hit with. Natasha walked into the room and handed him a cup of tea. Steve stood across the room by the far wall, arms tightly folded across his chest looking at nothing.

The room was silent. But over the last two hours there had been plenty of yelling.

Coulson continued. "The facial recognition programs at SHIELD still haven't been able to identify the medics."

"Tony?" Steve asked.

Tony shook his head, his voice bitter, "Nothing. Can't track them. Can't find them. For once I'm as clueless as SHIELD." He picked up the glass, with a humorless laugh. "We lost Thor." His grip tightened and he yelled, hurling the it at a wall, shattering it, "We lost him, goddamnit!"

No one made a move to calm him.

"He's helpless." Bruce murmured. As unnatural as it was to think of Thor that way, Bruce was right. Thor was unconscious and completely at his captures mercy.

"How the hell did this happen?" Steve demanded. It would be more accurate to say 'Captain America' demanded, because Steve looked like he was ready to take down a Hydra base singlehandedly. As soon as Coulson had called, no one could keep Steve in his bed, he was up and in mission mode.

"Careful planning, I imagine," Coulson answered, "Aided by severe incompetence on SHIELD's part."

'Thor's been taken.' Thor's been taken. The words circled round Steve's mind. Clint was barely alive again to them before they lost another team member. This wasn't the same, though. They knew Thor was alive, they wouldn't stop looking for him.

By the time anyone knew that something was wrong it was too late to do anything. Two hours. Two hours of angry words and accusations. Steve was sorry to say that Coulson took the brunt of it. He did his job and stood between the Avengers and SHIELD. No one was impressed with SHIELD right now, not only for losing Thor but for the way Bruce was handled. Tony was ready to set the place on fire, digitally, apparently.

"Let's go over what we know," Steve said, walking over to the couches, "so that we're on the same page." When no one spoke, he continued, "Fourteen months ago someone faked Clint's death and took him. Was it possible they were after Thor instead? That taking Clint was a mistake?"

"No," Tony said, calming his breath and followed Steve's lead, joining the group, "Clint was specifically drawn out. He was the only one with EMPs, the only one who could have helped me, and the only one who wasn't under direct attack."

"Alright, so they wanted Clint, we'll call that step one."

"So we're thinking the one's who took Thor are the same people?" Bruce asked.

"It's too coincidental otherwise, the timing is too perfect." Natasha said.

"Why? Why now?" Bruce wondered. "Are they… no, they can't want him for the same reason as Clint. As soon as Thor becomes aware enough, he'll call Mjolnir."

"Unless," Coulson interjected, "they found a way to somehow block the connection, or they keep him just sedated enough that he can't or won't be able to focus on calling it."

"How did they even sedate him at SHIELD?" Bruce asked, looking to Coulson.

"I don't know the specifics but from what I understand it's a similar compound to the Hulk tranquilizers."

Bruce frowned, "But how did SHIELD even know that would work? Thor refused to submit to tests or blood work."

"He did allow a basic physical assessment and that's more than we've ever gotten from the Hulk."

Bruce sighed and looked away, shaking his head.

"So step one, take Clint. Why Clint?" Steve asked.

"A means to an end," Natasha said, frowning, clearly not liking her answer.

"They tortured him for a year, broke him, so they could get Thor?" Tony asked, in disbelief and anger. "I don't buy it. If they wanted Thor why didn't they just take him in the first place? Why take Clint first? If they wanted someone who could get Thor, Hulk would have been a better choice, no offence."

Bruce waved him off.

Phil spoke up, "We don't know that Thor was the ultimate goal, so we can't work on assumptions. What we do know, he attacked and tried to kill you all."

"Did he?" Steve wondered, and everyone turned back to him, "He shot Thor with an uru bullet, if he really wanted him dead he would have shot him in the head."

"Thor was moving," Bruce reasoned.

"Clint could still make that shot," Coulson denied. "And he still didn't hit the heart."

"Alright," Steve nodded, feeling like they were making some progress, "Thor, injured but alive. What about the rest of us?"

"He was going to shoot me," Natasha said, simply, "Head shot."

"He basically shot me in the heart," Tony said, shrugging, trying to play off his unease "but I fixed it."

Natasha turned to him, "Remember what we talked about when you woke up, Tony? If Hulk hadn't come back when he did, we wouldn't have gotten help in time."

And, yes, Tony was trying to not remember that fact. Clint had gone for the reactor instead of Tony's actual heart. Because he didn't really want to kill Tony? Because Clint wanted him to suffer more before he died? Or was it because he knew that going for the reactor would hurt Tony more than anything else? It was a big glowing bullseye displaying Tony's weakness. Tony couldn't forget about it for even one day, he could feel it's pressure with each breath he took.

"But Thor was already healing, wasn't he?" Bruce said, bringing Tony back.

"So this really was about Thor all along?" Tony asked, incredulously.

Suddenly JARVIS's voice sounded, **If I may interject?**

Coulson looked up, "Go ahead, JARVIS."

**At Sir's request I have stored medical files for each member of the Avengers, yourself included, Agent Coulson. I have only just updated Thor and Captain Rogers files concerning their most recent time spent in SHIELD medical and have come across some information that has led me to conclude that Capt. Rogers would not have died.**

"What?" Natasha frowned, "The doctors at SHIELD said he would have died if the medics hadn't gotten there when they did."

"Are you sure, JARVIS?" Coulson asked.

**Quite. The unknown compound in the dart, among other things, lowered Capt. Roger's core body temperature. I cross referenced the effects of the compound to the information recorded upon Capt. Roger's rescue from the glacier. The parallels are undeniable.**

Everyone grew still, going over this new information.

Steve shivered, remembering his dreams of the cold. Someone had intentionally made him relive that. Was it Clint's idea? Did he really hate them that much now?

Coulson spoke up. "The doctors told me he would have died, but they also said that after their initial assistance, his body broke down the rest of it. What if it was meant to look like Steve had died but he was actually being put in some kind of frozen coma, and the doctors unknowingly brought him out of it?"

"Assumptions, Coulson," Natasha warned, but she looked thoughtful.

Coulson shook his head, "It's not an assumption that before I came to the Tower, when I was checking on Steve, I stopped him from being transferred to the Helicarrier."

Steve looked to him, surprised, "What?"

Tony could almost feel something in his mind click into place. "Son of a bitch," he said, in wonder.

Coulson continued, "If Tony and Natasha were dead, Hulk on the run, me across the Atlantic, Thor and Steve both injured, dying; they could have been immediately transferred together to the Helicarrier and lost in transit, just like this."

"Why would they both be transferred?" Bruce asked.

"Dr. Hemming, was on the Helicarrier. He was needed for Thor's surgery, to get the shrapnel out. Our top toxicology team is occupying a lab on board, they moved their two weeks ago to study a poison that was being used against our agents in multiple locations." At their looks, he continued, "This was all in the reports I went over before I came here, while I was checking on Steve and then now, verifying the doctor's whereabouts. When this all happened, Dr Hemming was recalled to the New York office, but he was in surgery at the time. Steve and Thor would have been moved there together rather than using two quinjets in different directions. But before anything could happen, Steve's body caught up and Thor was already waking up and refusing help."

"So, possible endgame," Tony said, rubbing his forehead. "Take out the Avengers. Kill Natasha and me, gain a god and the super soldier as test subjects?"

"Wait, if they wanted super soldiers why not take Natasha as well?" Bruce asked.

"That's not common knowledge, Bruce." Natasha reminded, "It's not even in my 'eyes only' file. Besides, it's a variation, not nearly as effective as Steve's."

"Still, you're what, sixty, seventy?" Tony asked.

"Not important right now, Tony."

"Apparently neither are you and I. They didn't even want us. I'm offended. I could have built them amazing stuff."

"Shut up."

"What about Bruce?" Steve asked

There was a noticeable hesitation from Natasha and Tony.

Bruce gave a sad smile, "You don't have to spare my feelings. Without a team, there would be no reason for SHIELD to continue protecting me."

"That's not true," Steve denied. He turned to Coulson. "Is it?"

Phil didn't look happy. In fact he looked very regretful. "Being a functioning member of the Avengers goes a long way in convincing others of Bruce's importance and… his need for freedom."

Tony's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by Bruce.

"We're not going to talk about this right now Tony. We need to focus on getting Thor back."

Steve nodded. "So, the question is, how much does Clint know? How apart of this was he?"

"What the hell does that mean, Rogers?" Tony demanded.

Steve stood straight. "It means that they had him for a year, Tony. A year to get him ready for this. We all agree that they took him on purpose, and I think it's pretty obvious why. Loki was lucky Clint was there when he came through the portal, he wouldn't have made it as far as he did, in such a short period of time, without him."

"Hey!" Tony objected.

"I already spoke to Clint about this plenty of times. Stuttgart was his plan. Loki wanted to be captured and Clint got away with Iridium. The Helicarrier attack? His plan. Loki got away. Everyone else, including Clint, was expendable, so he planned accordingly. Clint can plan a mission with the best of them, because he is one of them. And they knew that. Who better to take down the Avengers than one of their own? Who would know us better? Who could tailor an attack to fit us and have the skills to carry it out?"

Natasha sat down on the couch arm, looking away, "Clint." She pursed her lips, "His death would also be the easiest to fake."

"The only reason the plan didn't work was because Hulk smashed their toys faster than expected. That wasn't Clint fault. So, yeah, we need to find out how much they turned Clint. If he knows where they've taken Thor."

"What's the plan?" Coulson asked.

"We go talk to Clint, as a team," Steve announced. "Maybe seeing us together would help."

"Or he withdraws further because he feels like we're ganging up on him," Bruce said.

Natasha stood, "I don't think it would hurt."

Tony opened his mouth to snark something, then stopped. He wanted to go with them, to hear Clint's voice talking, if not to him then in his direction, so he stayed silent.

He could feel Natasha looking at him but kept his eyes on Steve; being quiet was, apparently too suspicious, "So, lets get moving, Thor's not going to save himself… but if he does that would really help us out."

**8888888**

This wasn't going to work. Clint wouldn't even look at them.

Steve eyes grew sad when he finally saw Clint, sitting in the same place Tony had left him.

Tony was actually mad at Steve. Which wasn't fair and the feeling was probably closer to envious, but Tony was sticking with anger. They had given Steve the basic rundown about Clint, but he hadn't read the file yet and Clint was wearing his shirt; so he didn't know, not really. Hell, none of them really knew, but Steve was at least clueless enough that when he spoke to Clint he didn't have to pretend as much to act normally.

Steve told him what happened to Thor and Clint blinked, his eyes shifting a little, but he continued to stare at nothing.

"We need to know where they took him, Clint."

Finally Clint eyes moved up to the group, and he took a moment to look at each of them in turn. Steve and then Natasha. He paused at Bruce his eyes growing intense, making the doctor shift uncomfortably. Instead of simply moving on, Clint's eyes looked down for a second before turning to Tony; making Bruce think he had won something, but what, he wasn't sure.

Tony suddenly wished they had waited for Coulson to finish up with Fury before they came here. One more person to go through before Clint went back to staring at the reactor. Tony briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, Clint wasn't going to talk while Tony was here. This was part of his punishment. It felt like the reactor was pushing on his lungs. "I'm going to go."

"What?" Steve asked.

"I've got other things I can use to try to find the jet, so I'm just going to-"

"I thought you said that you didn't-"

He went for flippant. "I'm a genius, Cap, I'm always coming up with new ideas, it's why I'm also a billionaire. So, if you need me I'll be in my lab," he finished and made a quick exit down the hall before anyone else could object.

As soon as Tony was out of earshot Clint spoke up, "So you lost Thor. I don't see how that's my problem."

Steve looked at Clint, surprised, then back to Tony as the elevator door closed. His face showed realization before it hardened as he turned back to Clint.

"It was your bullet that shot him."

"Wasn't mine," Clint denied, "It was on loan." Clint smiled and Steve felt his throat constrict. "I guess they wanted it back."

Steve took a deep breath and turned to the others, "Will you give us a moment?"

Bruce nodded and left, followed by Natasha after some hesitation.

Steve turned back to Clint, standing firm, "We need to know where Thor is, Clint."

"Why?" Clint demanded, "Are you actually going to go get him? The others aren't here now Rogers, you don't have to pretend that you care anymore. Go tell them you tried your best but I won't talk; they'll believe you."

"Pretend that I care? Is that what they told you?" Steve could feel his anger grow, "That we didn't care enough to come for you?"

"Well you didn't. That kind of speaks for itself."

"No, you're right, Clint, we didn't come for you. We didn't even look. Because we thought you were dead. You have to know that I would never willing leave you behind," Steve insisted, then was surprised when Clint's whole body flinched away from him at his words. He went on, "I know that doesn't change what happened. I know that it must been unbearable to-"

"Stop!" Clint snarled, "Don't even...How would you even know how I feel, Captain America? When have you ever been abandoned? Left behind and forgotten? Seventy years and they were still looking for you! Did you even go back for your pal Bucky?"

Steve tensed.

"Or did you just shed a tear and move on? Just another nobody you failed."

Steve consciously loosened each of his fingers before he spoke, carefully, "Bucky was my brother. He was never a 'nobody' to me. But I did fail him. And as unknowable as the situation was, we failed you, Clint. As your team, we should have had your back and we didn't. Because no matter what happened, what was done or said, you are still a member of this team."

Clint swallowed, looking passed Steve, at the wall, "That's easy to say, when you need something from me."

"You never stopped being an Avenger, Clint."

Clint's eyes turned to Steve, daring, "So you didn't replace me?"

"No."

"Captain America, lying."

"Do you mean the snipers we were forced to work with?" Steve snapped back. "Who didn't have half your talent, or versatility? Who couldn't really watch our backs like you always did; we had to constantly watch them, because they didn't know how to work with such a varied team in open combat." Steve took a breath. "I'm not trying to compare experiences, but this year has been hell without you here."

Clint held his gaze a moment longer, then looked away. "Get out of here Rogers," a beat, "I don't know where Thor is."

"What about where you were? They may have taken him-"

"I don't know!" Clint yelled, "I don't know anything you want to know, and anything I do know, I'm not going to tell you!"

"Clint…"

Clint dropped his head into his hands and groaned, "Go save your teammate, Rogers."

Steve didn't move, "I'm trying to save both of them."

Clint didn't respond to him after that; just shook his head and turned around to lay down facing the far wall, ignoring Steve until he finally turned left.

How were they going to fix this?

The elevator opened to Natasha, standing with her arms crossed.

Steve sighed and walked in, "So?"

"So, Coulson's gone back to SHIELD to help organize the search. Tony's locked himself in his lab, working on the problem." At Steve's look she continued, "That's all I can get out of JARVIS, Tony is 'working on the problem'. So, all of them?"

Steve shook his head, "Clint wouldn't talk to him. Do you think he said anything when Tony went to see him before?"

"No," Natasha said, with her usual bluntness.

Steve let out a frustrated huff, leaning against the elevator wall.

Natasha turned to him, lifting an eyebrow, "You're not expecting a hug are you?"

Steve laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. "No," he returned her look, "unless that was your way of asking for one. Then I've always got hugs to spare," he said, slightly raising his arms, it felt good to smile.

Natasha quirked a smile as the doors opened and she walked out.

He lowered his arms, "Alright." He paused, letting her move far enough away before asking, "JARVIS?"

**Yes, Captain?**

"I know this goes without saying, but could you keep a close eye on Tony? Let us know if he needs… anything, anything at all?"

**I will do my best, Captain, but Sir has become quite adept at preventing me from calling for, what he terms 'unwanted help'.**

"Your best is all I'm asking for. JARVIS. Thank you."

**Always, Captain.**

Steve just hoped Tony would let the team help him this time. For months after Clint's 'death' he had pulled away, only beginning to allow them close again when Bruce and the Hulk had come under heavy mediafire. Now, Clint's silence toward him seemed to be setting him back again.

Clint.

_'How would you even know how I feel, Captain America? When have you ever been abandoned?... Did you even go back for your pal Bucky?'_

_'I already spoke to Clint about this plenty of times.'_

Whoever was behind all of this was wise to choose Clint. After the business with Loki and the Tesseract the entire team had come to him, individually, to help him passed it. They had opened themselves more to him than anyone else on the team. And now he was using the closeness they had shared against them.

Steve couldn't help but wonder again, how were they going to fix this?


	21. The Devil Within

I've got to admit, I watched Captain America (amazing!) this past week and it threw me off my 'Lies' mindset for a bit, making it really hard to write. Before I started 'Lies' I was writing another long story that will be movieverse compliant and was planning on having it done before Captain America so I could just make stuff up for Steve's storyline, but now, since 'Lies' pushed it out of line, it will need to include the fallout from the movie, and if you have seen the movie you understand that I will now have to be rethinking some things. (I mean, HOLY CRAP MOVIE! Knock me on my face!)

That being said, hopefully this chapter is still up to par.

* * *

- -The light holes began opening at night, then would close as the sky got brighter. Clint started staying up at night, just so he could see something. After six days, and he actually felt a physical relief that he could tell that it had been six days, the door opened. Clint instinctively flinched away, but no light came through to burn his eyes, just darkness.

The holes were open, letting starlight in, so he could see a figure standing in front of the door as it closed. Clint stayed where he was by the pillar. It hadn't gotten so bad that he would crawl to them.

"Clint?"

Clint started, looking harder at the man; it was Patrick. Was he real?

"Pat?"

Patrick breathed a laugh and took a step forward but no more. "Yeah, it's me."

An illusion would say that.

"I'm working on this alright?" Patrick tried, speaking carefully. "They agreed to let the light back in, maybe give you another chance."

Another chance. He didn't take his eyes off Pat, afraid he might disappear like everything else. "You're still here."

"Yeah, I am. It's been awhile. Can… can I come closer?"

Why was he asking? No one asked.

Clint nodded.

Slowly, Patrick walked over and knelt down beside him. His hands lifted but then he hesitated and Clint could see his hands flexing and unflexing, unsure of where to put them, then finally settling on Clint's shoulders.

That was alright. No one had touched him there in a while, and Patrick's touch was soft and careful and… real, it was real. Clint closed his eyes briefly. He had missed this.

"Clint?" Patrick leaned in, trying to get a better look at Clint's face.

Clint shook his head and leaned forward until his forehead touched Patrick's.

Patrick smiled. "Hey." His arms moved, wrapping around Clint and pulling him close. "I can't stay for very long-"

Clint tensed, his hands gripping Patrick's shirt tightly, and began mumbling, "No, dont leave. Don't leave."

"Hey, no," Patrick soothed, trying to catch Clint's eye. "Don't panic." His hand came up and cupped Clint's face, making him look back up. He leaned in and softly kissed Clint's forehead. "I'll be back alright?"

"Don't leave, please," Clint whispered.

Patrick kissed his cheek, then pulled him into a hug, "I'll be back tomorrow." He gently pushed away from Clint. "Try and get used to the light again, they'll be staying open longer, so just try, alright?"

Clint nodded again and stayed on the floor as Patrick left.

Waiting. Always waiting.

**88888888**

Patrick came back the next day, like he said he would. Clint was surprised. He was even more surprised when he came back to himself on top of Pat, choking him. He didn't even remember getting triggered.

Pat was trying to say Clint's name, to get his attention somehow. Clint blinked a few times, loosened his hold and scrambled back, moving around the pillar. Patrick tried to coax him back out, saying he wasn't mad, but soon gave up, promising to come back the next day, and he did. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Clint tried to keep his distance, but on the fifth day Patrick came right in and sat next to Clint. He didn't say anything, he just sat there; after maybe ten minutes he got up and left. He always came in the morning while the holes were still open, he might have even been coming in at the same time. Each day the holes stayed open longer and so Patrick stayed longer, but soon after he left, they would close again.

The next time Patrick came in and sat down, Clint moved closer laid his head on his shoulder. Patrick stayed even longer that day. Clint closed his eyes when it became too bright, not wanted to say anything to make Patrick leave.

When Clint woke up that night, there were a folded set of scrubs by the door. Patrick had gotten him clothes; Clint tried not to break down as he put them on. They felt weird and he woke up multiple times that night, thinking someone was in his cell touching him; but he didn't take them off.

The next day, he leaned on Patrick again, moving his legs so they were touching Pat's. Pat stayed even longer, some of the holes closed partially so that it wouldn't be too bright. Clint smiled.

The next day, when Clint snuggled close, Patrick wrapped his arm around him. Clint didn't even realize he had fallen asleep until he woke back up in the dim cell. The holes were barely open but Clint still see and feel Patrick next to him.

"You're still here."

He could hear Patrick's smile, "You keep saying that."

Clint stared out at the cell. "How long have I been here?"

Patrick hesitated. "I… they closed out the light almost six months ago, so…"

"Eleven months," Clint supplied. Eleven months. Almost a year. Six months, and Patrick had still come for him. Stayed for him.

"I told you, I'm working on this. I got them to listen to me about you. We just need to show them I'm right, and they've been handling you wrong."

_Show them I'm right._ Patrick was putting himself on the line to get Clint out of the dark, to…

"Donnelly?"

"Has to stay away for now."

_For now. Show them_. If Patrick didn't show them something, Donnelly was going to come back.

No more. No more.

Clint curled into Patrick more. "Grey."

Patrick leaned away slightly and looked at Clint. "What?"

"The color of the doors," Clint said, and Patrick's eye's widened, "They're grey."

**88888888**

The holes were being left open for most of the day when it happened. Clint was surprised. He was so believing of Pat's words, but this wasn't his fault. Truthfully, Clint should have see it coming. Why would Donnelly willingly give up his toy?

The answer was that he wouldn't.

The shock was long and hard and Clint had not missed this. When it stopped he heard a chain clanking, then a click as a manacle closed around his left wrist.

_No!_

Clint surged away before the other could be put on, but only made it so far before the chain stopped him. The collar shocked him again as he pulled at the chain.

He wasn't suppose to be here. Patrick said that he had to stay away.

"You little shit!"

_**You little shit! Are you crying?**_ Clint flinched away and was kicked in the gut. No. No.

"... take credit for my work?... you worthless…"

_'He thinks he's so special.'_ Stark wasn't here. "Shut up, Stark!"

Clint was seeing too much and none of it was real.

"...my doing…"

Donnelly grabbed his hips.

"No!" Clint yelled, kicking back and knocking Donnelly away.

"Donnelly!"

Both men turned to the door, to see Patrick standing there, looking furious.

"Get out," Patrick demanded.

Donnelly didn't move. "You get out, Patty."

"I'm serious, Donnelly, get out."

They stared at each other for a moment before Donnelly gave in, "Sure." He glanced at Clint, then began walking to the door. He paused next to Patrick and leaned in, asking, "Or what?"

Donnelly's arm moved fast catching Patrick on the side of his head, dazing him.

"Pat!" Clint yelled, as the man was slammed against the cell wall. Clint tried to get to them, but the chain brought him up short. "No, Patrick!"

Donnelly had Patrick in a hold, cutting off his air. Patrick tried to maneuver out of it, but kept getting blocked. "Did you really think I would just let you have him?" Donnelly growled, "After all the time I put into him?"

Patrick's face was turning red, as he slammed Donnelly back against the wall, but the man didn't budge.

"No," Donnelly gritted out, "And they'll give him back when they find you in here dead, you got too comfortable with the prisoner, turned off the cameras, that was really me but you won't…"

Clint stopped listening. No. Donnelly wasn't going to kill Patrick. His mind became clear as he moved to the pillar, picked up his drinking cup and turned back and pitched it at Donnelly's head, hitting his temple.

Donnelly rocked back, releasing Patrick who fell the floor and rolled away, coughing. Donnelly shook his head, then zeroed back in on Patrick, who had moved into a crouch, but before he could move, Patrick pulled out a gun and aimed it at Donnelly.

Donnelly froze, looking surprised and genuinely confused. "What are you doing?"

Patrick didn't blink. "You shouldn't have turned off the cameras."

Donnelly's eye's widened, "No! Don-"

Two shots rang out, both bullets hitting Donnelly on either side of his chest, puncturing his lungs.

Donnelly's face was one of shock as he fell back against the wall and slid down.

Clint stood still, feeling in a daze watching as Donnelly began to cough up blood.

No head shot. A slow death. Clint could live with that.

Donnelly's face turned into a snarl and his right hand moved to the cuff, hitting something.

The shock hit hard, harder than ever before. He dropped to his knees, crying out. He could hear Patrick swearing and saw him run to Donnelly. Clint fell on his side, convulsing, unable to control his hands enough to move them to his neck. He couldn't breath. He was going to die.

Donnelly was going to have the last laugh.

The pain went on and on, his vision started blacking out. The last thing he saw was Patrick, pulling the cuff off Donnelly's arm.

**88888888**

"Clint, please, wake up. Come on."

Clint groaned.

"There you go, come on, open your eyes."

"Pat?" He opened his eyes, to see Patrick's face not two feet away from his own, smiling.

"I got the cuff off him," Patrick said, "I'm sorry. It was some kind of failsafe code or something. I didn't know about it, are you alright?"

Clint blinked and forced himself to sit up. He had to see it.

Donnelly was still there, against the wall, eyes closed. Dead.

He was dead. The bastard was actually dead. Drowned in his own blood. Just like that.

Clint choked on a laugh.

"Clint?" Patrick asked, looking worried, "Are you alright?"

Clint nodded. Yeah. He was great.

**88888888**

Clint was out of the cell. He wasn't blindfolded or chained. He still had to wear the collar, but Patrick was wearing the cuff to it now, so he could handle that. He didn't have free rein of the place, he was still confined to only part of the building he was in, but that part included a gym, with a shower room and an actual flushing toilet. After being stuck in the cell for almost year he had no problem with this. He didn't even think about trying to escape.

Escape to what?

At least Patrick was here. Always here. Clint couldn't leave the his room without Patrick with him, he was still earning trust and privileges. And that was fine, he was glad it was only Patrick, he never saw anyone else. They worked out in the gym together, showered at the same time, then took Clint back to his room.

It had a cot now and Patrick had gotten him a remote for the light holes.

The Avenger clippings were still on the wall. When Patrick had asked about them, about maybe throwing them away, Clint had turned him down. They were an important reminder.

After exercising one day, Patrick came up to Clint in the showers, a shy smile on his lips. Clint didn't move, just allowed Patrick to lean in and kiss him. He closed his eyes when he felt a tongue trace over his lips.

It wasn't the same. It didn't feel the same.

But maybe that was a good thing. Everything before this hadn't lasted, and Clint wasn't going to be naive again and think this was going to last either, but maybe this was all he was ever going to get in this life. Maybe this was what he was good for.

Clint pushed away the sadness that was trying to build and pulled Patrick close, kissing him back.

**88888888**

The first time they had sex was in Patrick's room. He had moved his quarters to be by Clint.

He felt like he was going through the motions, but Patrick seemed happy enough, and Clint was glad he could at least do that. Patrick was all he had left.

_Really? Do you actually have him?_

Patrick held Clint close that night. He had never really enjoyed being the little spoon, having someone behind him, wrapped in there arms; arms that wouldn't let go, making him feel trapped.

So, Patrick had Clint. That would be good enough.

Clint ignored the emptiness that was now always in his chest.

**88888888**

Time didn't seem to matter, but it passed anyway. Clint could now leave his room by himself. And the collar was finally taken off. That was mainly due to the fact that he had gone with Patrick on a hit, had taken out the target himself with, what Patrick enthusiastically called an impossible shot, and didn't try and make a break for it. He had nowhere to go anyway.

They had taken precautions anyway, so that Clint wouldn't be able to retrace his steps. Clint had given Patrick an amused look and the man had rolled his eyes. Yeah, Patrick knew Clint would be able to retrace most of it. This was for show.

It didn't seem real, being out in a city, watching people move around their lives. Life moved on everywhere else. Just another reminder that he really didn't matter. He was glad when Patrick joined him in his room that night to celebrate.

Patrick was behind him, Clint could feel the breath on his neck and made himself relax into his arms.

"Bet the guards love this free porn," Clint said eyeing the cameras that were still up.

"I turn them off for this," Patrick said.

"And you're bosses are ok with that?"

"As long as they turn back on when I say they will. They've got nothing to say when you're not being hostile." Clint could feel Patrick smile into his neck but it faded and Clint could tell he was was looking at the clippings on the wall across the room.

"You know they probably think you died months ago, right? After that phone call with Stark?"

Clint's jaw twitched. "Yeah, I figured."

Patrick took a deep breath. "I'm sorry things turned out this way for you. That it took this for you to find out what they really thought of you."

"Better than living a lie," Clint bit out. He didn't want to talk about this.

"I may not think much of them," Patrick continued, "But professionally, you've got to respect them. When I heard there was a hit out on most of the team, I said good luck, because if any actually thinks they can take them-"

"There's a hit?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe how much. They keep-"

"For everyone?"

Patrick hesitated. "Yes. But they don't actually expect anyone to kill that green Hulk. Isn't he unkillable or something?"

"Pretty much," Clint mused. "So take out the team. Make sure they don't bother anyone again?"

Patrick pulled his arms away and sat up. "Clint?"

Clint nodded, staring at the clippings, "I can work that out."

* * *

This is the last flashback chapter, only present time chapters now!

The Devil Within by Digital Daggers


	22. Say Something

Five days. Five days with nothing, absolutely nothing.

If there had been no way to find Clint, part of Bruce was glad that they had not known Clint was alive. Five days of not being able to find Thor, of not knowing what was happening to him, was tearing his insides apart; almost literally with the way Hulk was a constant presence pressing on Bruce's mind.

Everyone seemed to be handling it the best that they could.

Natasha was here and gone simultaneously. No one knew that she was gone until she had already returned. She was checking her own informants, going undercover, doing what she could because just sitting around was unacceptable.

Tony had yet to come out of his lab. He would send messages to SHIELD with possible locations to check out and JARVIS would assure them, when they asked, that Tony was 'fine'. That was the word he used every time they asked, and Bruce got the feeling that if that was really true JARVIS would use more convincing words, instead of repeating what Tony had obviously said himself.

Steve would come and go with Coulson, but Bruce wasn't sure what he was doing. He had no real contacts and didn't know enough about the modern world to be of much help with such a digital search effort. He may have been leading some of the teams to search locations but Bruce didn't see the point. If any of the locations were actually promising, the Avengers would be the first ones there. But, like Natasha, he had to be doing something.

Which was how Bruce ended up watching over Clint. He was sure Tony kept the live feed going in his lab, but Bruce brought his food, allowed himself to be the physical presence of the team for Clint.

Bruce was waiting for the moment when Clint would strike out at him, wondered how he would go about it. He had distanced himself from Natasha so completely that any intimate gesture or phrase was chilling; he had gone for Thor's honor, citing his failures; with Steve, it was things that he had no control over, that he couldn't change, and didn't those weigh the most on his mind? Tony was met with silence, leaving him with the unknown, allowing his mind to come up with the worst possible conclusions.

When Clint finally did lash out, Bruce wished it had been with an attack similar to one of the others, but it was an attack and this was the point, wasn't it? A tailor fitted assault.

"I'm honestly surprised you're still here, Bruce," Clint said, after Bruce sent the tray of food through the slot.

Bruce stopped, surprised that Clint had used his first name, his unease growing. "We're not going to let you starve, Clint."

"No, I mean here at the Tower," Clint said, seriously, "I guess I thought you actually cared about the team."

Bruce blinked, "I don't know-"

"If you actually cared about them, you would leave. You told me so yourself. No one is safe around you, Bruce. I never jumped out of the vents to scare you because I agreed with you. Someone startles you bad enough and you could literally rip their head off."

Bruce rubbed his fingers together, stopping the nervous habit from spreading to his whole hand.

"But I guess you've got the Hulk room, that's safe, and you'll always make it there on time, right? How many floors away is your lab again. Isn't that where you spend most of your time? But I'm sure Stark secured that place right up. What about the common floor? How far away is that? Sometimes you all go out to eat, could you make it back in time? What about your room? How many nightmare have you woken up from with your heart racing? Did you make it there in time? Were you able to calm yourself down?" Clint was suddenly standing, staring into his eyes. "What about now? Could I piss you off enough that you couldn't hold back the Hulk from smashing through this barrier and tearing me apart?"

Bruce stepped back. His pulse was fine, there was no danger of the Hulk coming out. But Clint presence was draining. "Are you finished?" he asked, ready to leave even if he wasn't.

Clint slowly stepped back, away from the barrier, looking at Bruce intently. "So, you finally gave up on being with Betty?"

Bruce was so startled by the change in conversation, that he wouldn't stop his jaw from dropping slightly.

"Yeah," Clint said, giving a small nod, "good call on that, she seems like a sweet woman, you would have probably felt bad about murdering her in bed."

Bruce had no words.

"How's that coming along anyway? Maybe you just need to be the bottom, but I guess Hulk would have a problem with that, he seems like a very dominant guy."

Bruce shook his head. "What are you even talking about?"

Clint's face twitched in anger and his eyes grew hard, "You two deserve each other."

Who? Bruce and Betty? Hulk?

Bruce turned and walked away, not wanting to hear any more of the hateful things Clint was spewing, knowing he would be unable to bear much more when it was coming from a friend.

"You had the right idea with the gun Bruce," Clint yelled after him. "It's a shame it didn't work."

**88888888**

Tony waited until JARVIS sounded the all clear before making his way to Clint's holding cell. Bruce wouldn't be coming back anytime soon, Natasha was talking with Coulson and Steve on the phone, while those two were at SHIELD or wherever.

Now was the time.

The elevator stopped at the floor but the doors remained closed. JARVIS was going to be difficult, but Tony was prepared for this.

"Don't tell anyone where I am or what I am doing."

**Sir you have programed me with protocols to stop you from doing such-**

"Am I drunk, JARVIS?"

There was a moments hesitation, then a reluctant, **You are not.**

"Then those protocols don't apply to this situation."

**Sir, you have been awake for almost 62 hours, I believe your judgment to be impaired. This is an unwise course of action. Agent Barton's hostility toward the team has not lowered enough for-**

"Clint, JARVIS!" Tony yelled, "His name is Clint! Stop calling him Agent Barton!"

There was a breath of a pause.** I apologize, Sir. It was not my wish to upset you in doing so.**

The anger drained out of Tony and he slumped against the elevator door, his demeanor finally matching the circles under his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "It's not his fault, J, that he's like this now. They took him and messed him up. You need to stop blaming him."

**You should, also, stop blaming yourself for what has happened to him, Sir.**

Tony shook his head against the door. "That's different, J."

**Yes it is, Sir,** JARVIS stressed. **Clint intended to kill you and almost succeeded, whereas you did not shoot him or try to harm him in anyway.**

Tony was silent. "Don't tell anyone where I am or what I'm doing. Open the door."

JARVIS unwillingly complied. **As you wish, Sir,** he said, sounding unhappy.

Tony walked down the hall like he owned the place, and he did, so no pretending there, and began talking before Clint even came into view.

"Over the last few days, things have become very clear to me. They make sense, you know? Puzzle pieces, robots putting them together."

Clint was now sitting on his bed, startled up from his laying position by Tony's entrance.

"And hey," Tony said, gesturing to Clint, "You'll just sit there and listen to me, I don't even have to worry about you interrupting."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

Tony pointed at Clint, "Facial twitch, I win." He sighed. "I win. I always win. I won on the bridge didn't I? I lived through that, I survived. You," he flitted his hand at Clint, "also lived through it, we now know," his eyes turned sad, "but you didn't survive it, did you? And that's not right, that's not fair. Why did the billionaire get to survive? It was his fault anyway."

Clint looked around, unsure of what what happening.

"So why wouldn't you try to rip out his heart? No, not rip it out, I bet you could come up with an arrow to do that, but no, not rip it out, just… destroy it in a very poetic manner. It felt poetic to me… in between the electrical shocks. Justifiable at least. You know I'm rambling again. You were always so good at stopping me from going on and on and on and... Damn it, Clint!" he yelled, pushing his fists against the barrier, startling Clint again, "say something to me!"

Clint just stared at him. At least he wasn't smiling.

Tony dropped his head. "What were you going to say?" he pled, looking back up, "At the river. You looked up at me, and there was blood, I thought it was blood. They wanted us to believe… and we did, we thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. I couldn't save you. I couldn't even find you. I've never failed anyone so completely."

Silence, always silence now. Tony pushed away.

"But I'm going to fix this. I can fix anything." He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Clint pressed himself back against the wall, looking disturbed and confused.

"I can fix this, Tony muttered again, opening the cell door and stepping in.

**Sir!** JARVIS' urgent, almost panicked sounding voice filled the cell. **Please leave the room immediately.**

"Mute, JARVIS." Tony said, not looking away from Clint, whose eyes had widened. His body was tense, looking ready to pounce.

"Look, see, here it is," Tony said, motioning to the reactor, the blue light filling the room. "My heart. That's what you were aiming for before, wasn't it, with the arrow? Of course it was, you always hit what you aim for. You wanted me to feel what I had done to you, you wanted to rip out my heart, but you did it the only way you could, from a distance."

Clint moved, slamming into Tony, pinning him against the wall, forearm against his throat. But not cutting off his air, not enough to stop him from talking.

Tony's voice was raspy, "But I'm right here now, I'm right here. You can actually tear it out now."

Clint arm loosened, his eyes searching Tony's, looking for the lie.

"I, uh," Tony gave a weak laugh, as he lifted his hand to the reactor, "I never showed you how to take it out. Took me forever to even take my shirt off around you."

Gently, Tony cupped his hand around Clint wrist and brought it down to the reactor. He could feel Clint begin to shake.

"See, you can't just unscrew the thing. I changed the design a bit, less wires. Fits in more like a plug than a car battery. There...there's a trick to it." He showed Clint what to do, guided his hand. Clint's eyes were locked on the blue glow. It took a moment, then there was a click and the reactor popped out a few millimeters.

Clint almost jumped back.

"Now… now comes the easy part," Tony breathed, heavily, moving his own hand away, "You just pull it out."

Clint stared at the reactor, flexing his fingers around it, appearing uncertain. The he looked up at Tony, locked eyes with him, and pulled it out a few inches.

There was another click and Tony took a gasping breath, the color quickly draining from his face. "Yeah, there," he groaned, "that's.. it's out."

Tony felt his legs give but Clint still had him pressed against the wall, so he didn't fall. Instead, Clint slowly lowered him to the ground, moving with him.

Clint arm was still gripping his shoulder, so Tony leaned forward and dropped his head onto it. He loved these arms. "Loved watching you practice." The muscles flexed beneath him. "I'm s-sorry I didn't come for you. Th...that I couldn't protect you." The pain increase, shortening his breath. "I know… know it was my f-fault you were shot. If I...if I…"

He leaned further onto Clint, gasping in pain, and waited. It wouldn't take long.

* * *

Obviously this chapter title is Say Something, with Christina Aguilera, but I came up with Tony's dialogue for this chapter before I ever heard that song. It came on while I was writing another chapter and I had to stop and come to this one because could it be more perfect?


End file.
